Living Impaired
by madwriterontheloose
Summary: As one of the first zombies of the coming apocalypse, Quinn Fabray must learn how to balance life, school, and an intense desire to eat human flesh. It won't be easy, but she's not giving up anytime soon.
1. Chapter 1

It was a bright, sunny day in Lima, Ohio, when Quinn Fabray was attacked in the McKinley high school locker room by a drooling, wild eyed man. He burst in on her changing, and before she could even yell a "Who the hell are you!" or "Could you at least wait until I'm done?" he leaps on her and begins chomping on her shoulder. Understandably shocked, Quinn began bludgeoning him with the nearest thing she could find (which happened to be her lock). However, he kept holding on with his teeth and it _hurt_. Desperate and in pain, Quinn increased the strength and number of her blows. The result was that his neck broke and the arms holding her down weakened sufficiently enough that she could free herself. Dizzy and losing consciousness, Quinn still somehow managed to pry the man's teeth from her. The sizable hole left behind, however, was a traumatic enough sight that Quinn almost immediately fainted. She lay unconscious on the locker room floor for thirty minutes before dying of blood loss.

That was the end of her life.

Two hours, twenty seven minutes, and thirty two seconds later, Quinn awakens to a strange fuzziness and a sticky sensation on one side of her face. She sits up, blinking and disoriented, and raises one arm to feel herself over. The left side of her face is sticky with some kind of substance, and when she draws her hand away her fingertips are stained red. She stares at the crimson blood, not quite understanding what it is or why it's there. Slowly, she turns her head to take in her surroundings.

Collapsed right next to her was the body of a man. Quinn scans him with wide, horrified eyes to see that he's dressed in a blue t-shirt and black slacks. His neck is dotted with purple and blue bruises-bruises that she had put there herself. Her eyes look even higher up to see that this was probably a guy in his thirties, with tousled brown hair, a well defined jaw, and brown eyes. She blinks. He's staring right at her.

"Hello," the man says. "Good to see you've finally awoken." His lips curve up into a kind of half smile. "Good morning, kid." Quinn stares, shell shocked, before she finally finds her voice and lets out an ear piercing scream.

"Hey, hey!" The man protests. "There's no need for that! You could have at least done it when I still had control of my arms and could cover my ears!" He waits resignedly as Quinn just screams louder. Eventually, though, she runs out of air and quiets down.

"Well, now that that's over…" the man gives her an apologetic smile."My name is Frank. Sorry for killing you." Quinn's jaw drops. She shakes her head slowly.

"What are you talking about?" She asks, not believing what she's hearing. "I'm not dead."

"You are, kid," Frank says gently. "Look at your arm. And please, try not to scream as much this time." Quinn is understandably freaked out at this point. She really, really does not want to look at her arm. But at her murderer's encouraging smile, Quinn swallows audibly and allows her eyes to roam to the dreaded area.

There is a huge, gaping hole on her upper left arm. Quinn stares with a kind of morbid fascination, examining the wound. The whole arm is dark red with drying blood, but she can just make out the jagged edges where her flesh was torn. It's only then that she notices she's been sitting in a pool of her own blood.

"Wow," Frank says, breaking the sudden silence in the room, "You're taking this a lot better than I expected."

"I…I think I need to throw up," Quinn says quietly. Her face scrunches up in disgust, and she almost immediately leans over, retching.

"Oh dear," Frank wrinkles his nose. "Never mind." He silently watches as Quinn hurls and then rests on her elbows with her head down.

"Oh God," she says, "oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod-" Her back heaves as she begins panicking, drawing in huge gasping breaths but somehow not being able to get enough air.

"Hey!" Frank yells, "Breathe, kid! Breathe!" He pauses. "Actually," he muses, "since you're already dead, I don't see the harm in a little oxygen deprivation." Quinn ignores him, still hyperventilating.

"My arm," she gasps, "There is a huge chunk of my arm missing!"

"Well, technically it's not missing," Frank tells her, "it's in my stomach. Feel free to cut it open and take it back if you like; I can't feel anything below my head and it's not like you can kill me anyways. But I don't know if it's in the same condition, because I'm not sure if zombies have digestive acids."

"You're not helping!" Quinn screams at him. She goes quiet though, staring at him like he's crazy. But honestly, she's the one imagining obviously dead people talking; she must be the crazy one. "Zombies?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah," Frank says, giving her a sad smile. "That's what I am. That's what you are now, too."

"You're insane," Quinn says, shaking her head frantically. "You mean flesh eating, undead zombies? They don't exist!"

"It looks like we have a nonbeliever!" Frank snarks, "Just look at your arm again-there's no more blood flowing out, see? That's because it's all over the floor. You're dead. Somehow, though, you're still talking to me. And believe me when I say that we're not in heaven; we're still here among the living, only, we aren't. Living, I mean."

Quinn doesn't say anything, but Frank can tell by the uncertain expression on her face that she's beginning to believe. "And the flesh eating part?" she asks in a small voice.

"Why do you think I attacked you?" Frank says. He sighs. "I tried not to, you know. Lasted about a month and a half before I went crazy with hunger, and well, here we are now." Quinn looks distraught.

"Why aren't you still starving?" Quinn points out, "I don't think my…I don't think you ate enough to make up for a month."

"You broke my neck," Frank says bluntly, "It's kind of hard to be hungry when I can't feel my stomach."

"Oh." Quinn says. She falls silent, just staring at him.

"If it's any consolation," Frank begins quietly, trying to be soothing, "I kept yelling for help after you fainted-hoping someone could come on time, you know? But I guess no one heard me." His face falls. "I really suck at this comforting stuff, don't I?"

"It's okay," Quinn reassures her murderer absently, "I suck at it too." She's still staring blankly, but then she shakes her head, trying to snap herself out of it. Quinn stands woozily, almost like she's drunk.

"I'm going to go take a shower," Quinn tells the man lying on the floor. He does a little twitching thing with his head.

"Sorry," Frank says, "I was trying to nod. Anyways, go ahead. When you're done, though, you're going to have to clean this place up and disinfect it. We don't want anyone else catching the zombie virus, so you're going to have to take extra precautions like not touching people's wounds or sharing drinks." He waggles his eyebrows at her, grinning. "That means no kissing, either."

Quinn decides not to mention how gross that thought is and walks in the direction of the showers without saying anything. She's not sure how to handle the bombshell that's just been dropped into her life, so she's going to deal with it the only way she knows how.

"Being dead isn't so bad!" Frank yells after her from his position on the floor, "it's almost like being alive, except-"

"Living impaired!"

"What?"

"I'm living impaired!" Quinn shouts back again.

Frank looks confused but all he responds with is "whatever you say, kid."

Deny, deny, deny.

* * *

When Quinn gets out of the shower, skin blood free (although her clothes aren't as salvageable; she's forced to put her stinky sweats back on), she walks to the nearest supply closet to get cleaning materials. Quinn grabs a mop and proceeds with cleaning up the blood-desperately not thinking about who it belongs to-while Frank chatters away. He's still lying on the floor and getting in the way, because Quinn doesn't want to touch a dead body.

"Why are you here so late anyways?" Frank asks curiously.

"I was exercising," Quinn replies. She may not be a Cheerio but she's going to stay fit, pregnancy or not. The thought makes her pause and glance down at her (still) protruding belly.

"Is my baby dead, too?" Quinn asks, staring down at it in horror. Frank blinks.

"I don't know," Frank responds, "Technically it should be, since it can't get anymore nutrients or oxygen from you. Did you know that the oxygen in your blood passes through to enter the baby's blood? That's how it breathes." He does that twitchy thing with his head again, although this time Quinn thinks he's trying to shrug. "I don't think so, though, because we're dea-living impaired, and yet our bodies somehow still function and our brains haven't decayed…It could be alive still, although it's probably got the zombie virus." Quinn frowns. They had almost reached nine months, and now…

"How did you know that stuff?" Quinn asks abruptly, trying to get her mind off other things. When he blinks in confusion, she elaborates. "About the baby's breathing."

"Oh." Frank smiles, "I was a doctor, before I got turned into a zombie. I've spent the last month trying to resist eating flesh and to develop a cure." He sighs. "I guess I've failed on both accounts.

"A cure?" Quinn pauses in her work and leans on the mop. "You mean there's a cure?"

"I mean I've been looking for one," Frank corrects her, "not that I've found one. You shouldn't get your hopes up." Despite his warning, though, Quinn feels her spirits lifting. She smiles and goes back to cleaning with more vigor. When the place is clear and properly disinfected, Quinn steps back to admire her work.

"It looks like none of this ever happened," she says a bit wishfully.

"Hello?" Frank interrupts, "Dead body here! Aren't you going to clean me up?" Quinn scowls at him; she was trying to avoid that.

"What should I do with you?" She sighs, resigned. "Drag you out and just dump you? I think the janitor would be a little bothered." Frank grimaces.

"No, that's unnecessary," he says hastily. "Does your school have those fire alarm thingies with an ax next to it?" At Quinn's nod, he continues "go get it and bring it here. And don't worry about breaking the glass or people noticing, because that's the least of our troubles." Frank also tells her to fetch some matches or a lighter. Quinn follows his instructions without any mishap, and returns carrying the heavy red ax in both hands. It makes her nervous.

"What should I do with it?" She hates the high pitched, scared way she asks him. Frank looks at her seriously.

"I'm going to ask you not to freak out," he says, "but you're probably going to anyways. I want you to cut my head off."

"Wha-No!" Quinn screeches, "I'm not cutting anyone's head off! I don't even want to touch you!" She feels like she might be sick again. "You're not serious," she protests weakly, "you can't be."

"I don't see what the problem here is," Frank says, rolling his eyes, "I've seen dead bodies all the time! Granted, that is because I was a doctor…Anyways," he goes on, "it's not like it will kill me. My body right now is pretty useless, and we need to cut off all the dead weight, no pun intended. Unless," he glances up at her with a knowing smile, "you don't want me to continue looking for a cure?"

Right now, Quinn feels like she's stuck between the metaphorical rock and hard place. She really, really does not even want to consider doing what he's asking her to, but she doesn't want to be a zombie either. She's sixteen, for Christ's sake! She's never left Lima, she's never gotten married; she's got so many nevers she can't even count them all. And if she doesn't start eating people (god, the thought grosses her out) she'll end up losing her mind in a month. She needs a cure; she needs her life back.

"Okay," Quinn says in a strained voice. "I'll do it." Frank beams.

"Good, good. Now, chop away! Just make sure you only hit the neck, okay?" Quinn's hands are shaking, but she positions the ax so the blade is resting lightly near the base of his neck. She swallows, heart thumping, and closes her eyes. Maybe if she can't see, she'll feel better about the whole thing, she thinks. She doesn't.

Quinn tries not to wince at the sound of the ax whirring through the air and through Frank's neck.

"Cool!" Frank says, but Quinn's eyes are still closed. "My vocal cords are still working! Nice cut, kid!" He pauses here, and the next time he speaks he sounds a bit embarrassed. "Oh, yeah…I didn't get to hear your name yet."

"Quinn," she replies, still staring at the back of her eyelids. Maybe she should just keep her eyes closed for the rest of her life. The world freaks her out a little bit right now, and she'd rather not face it.

"Quinn, then. Good work…but there's still some more stuff you've got to do."

"Oh God no," Quinn moans, opening her eyes. The sight of Frank's head unattached from his body and staring up at her is disturbing, but she's too tired to give it the proper freak out session it deserves. Thankfully, there's no blood. "Please. No more."

"It's easy this time, I promise. I just need you to burn my body."

"Your definition of easy does not fit normal society's," Quinn tells him, "I'm beginning to think I'd rather not have to deal with you at all."

"You can't just leave it there!" Frank protests, "You're going to have to burn the mop and sterilize the ax as well." He looks at her reproachfully. "Do you want the zombie virus to spread?"

"No," Quinn sighs. She grabs the mop and ax and throws them on the body. Then, she lights a match. "Are you going to say goodbye?" she asks, trying to prolong the moment before she actually has to do it. Frank rolls his eyes.

"Oh body," he intones gravely, "you have served me well. That you for taking me to the places I needed to go and doing the stuff I needed you to do. You're a pretty good body, too, although I really wish you could have been a little slimmer. And I wish that you could have been more muscular, with a six pack, and that when my wife and I-"

"Oookay, then," Quinn says hastily, throwing the burning match, "goodbyes are done." Frank pouts.

"I was just doing what you asked me to," he says innocently. Quinn gives him a dirty look. They watch in silence as the fire spreads and eats away at the pile.

"What should I do with the ax?" Quinn asks, still gazing at the ashes. The ax is black now, but still usable.

"Just leave it there," Frank says dismissively, "the janitors will clean everything up and come to their own conclusions." He looks up at her. "Anyways, we should probably go home."

"Yeah," Quinn says absently. Then she blinks. "Wait…we!"

"Well, yeah," Frank says as if it should have been obvious. "I can't come up with a cure if I don't have hands! I'm all brains now; I'll need someone to do the work for me. That's where you come in."

"I hate you," Quinn tells him. "I wish I skipped school today. I wish I didn't care so much about fitness. I wish zombies were only in horror movies where they belong."

"If wishes were horses beggars would ride," Frank recites. "Now, are you going to pick me up or what?"

"Can I choose 'or what'?" Quinn asks hopefully. When he scowls at her, she sighs.

"Okay," Quinn says reluctantly. She puts one hand on either side of his face, trying not to shudder, and shoves him into her bag.

"Hey!" Frank yells. "Be gentle."

"Shut up!" she snaps back. She closes the bag on him, and heaves it over her shoulder. It's actually not that much heavier. Quinn then gathers up all of her things and begins walking to her car.

Frank's voice is a little muffled, but she can hear him say "today we fought, you died, I died, you became a zombie, and I became body-less. What do you think will happen tomorrow?"

"I don't know about you," Quinn replies, "but tomorrow I'm going to school."

**Author's Rant: **Okay, that was one of the weirdest, grossest things I have ever written. It was kind of squicky, no? If this kind of thing really disturbs you, then I'm sorry. But it's okay-this is probably the worst this story is ever going to get in terms of ew-worthiness.

I know I probably shouldn't of started writing another multi-chapter story, but I can't help myself ;.; And it's unbeta-ed, as always, so I apologize in advance for any grammar issues.

Tell me what you think: is this a stupid idea and should I just stop writing it right now? Or should I keep going with it?


	2. Chapter 2

When she moved into Mercedes' house, Quinn knew that her privacy would end up being limited. She didn't think of it as a problem though-anything was better that staying with Puck and having him drive her up the wall. Besides, Mercedes was a good friend of hers, and she figured that anything she had to hide would be okay to tell the other girl about.

That was before the things she had to hide went from diaries and midnight snacks to a talking head.

It's not like she can say 'oh this is just a toy!' What kind of creep buys a lifelike talking head? Really, this whole zombie thing is making her (un)life so much more complicated, and she already had a baby and being kicked out of her home to worry about, not to mention school and glee.

"I hate you," she tells Frank. He rolls his eyes.

"Not again," he groans. "How much hate can one guy get?" For now, Quinn is keeping Frank in a big, clear plastic jar. It makes everything he says come out a bit muffled, but at least it protects him and it means that Quinn doesn't have to touch him anymore. She even poked little holes in the top, although Frank told her it wasn't necessary. It's not like he can die, he had pointed out.

"You're going to school, right?" Suddenly, Frank sounds a little excited. "Do I get to go, too? I haven't been to high school for nineteen years now." Quinn turns from her closet, where she had been picking out clothes. She crosses her arms.

"No, you can't go," she says firmly. "It's going to be hard enough to hide my arm without having to worry about you too." She glances at her left arm. Right now, she has it wrapped up securely with a white linen strip, but underneath is a big hole. And it's not going away anytime soon-Frank had said something about zombies being unable to create new tissues. Basically, any cut or scratch she got was going to be permanent. Frank whines like a little kid when she tells him he's not allowed at school, so Quinn grabs his jar and shoves it into the depths of her closet. The guy seriously doesn't understand the meaning of quiet.

"Quinn?" Mercedes calls from her room across the halls. "Do you have a cold or something? Because I heard talking and I _know_ your voice ain't that deep."

"No," Quinn says, coughing a bit. "It's nothing; I just needed to clear it out a bit." She rummages around in her closet and grabs a jacket. Frank is gazing at her balefully from where she shoved him.

"I hate you," he says. "What right do you have to go crushing a guy's dreams like that? If I had my body-" Quinn just slams the closet door shut, cutting him off. She grabs her bag (she cleaned it, like, ten times after taking Frank out of it) and heads out the door to breakfast.

When she and Mercedes do get to school, she can't help feeling like everyone's watching her. Is being dea-living impaired something obvious? She knows she should act normal, only she doesn't really remember what that's like. She feels kind of jittery and uncomfortable all day.

"Quinn?" Mr. Schuester says to her in glee, "is something wrong? You've been twitchy all day."

"It just means she needs to switch to decaf, Mr. Schue," Santana snorts in the seat behind her. "It's no biggie, I bet."

"Actually," Rachel cuts in, "I've noticed that Quinn seems a little pale. Perhaps she should go to the nurse's office?"

"N-no!" Quinn protests. Somehow, she thinks that going to the nurse's office and having them look at her would be a bad idea. What if they find out she's living impaired? "I'm fine, really."

"You did have that weird voice thing this morning," Mercedes says, looking at her with a concerned expression. Quinn tries to give her a reassuring smile, even though she's totally panicking on the inside.

"I'm fine," she tells them again. "Santana's right; it's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Rachel asks. The brunette leans in, brown eyes scrutinizing Quinn. "Your skin tone really is unusually pale, and if you do have a problem with your voice it would be best to have it checked out. I would rather not have unnecessary complications for Regionals; if needed I don't mind escorting you to the nurse myself. We need-"

"God!" Quinn snaps, adrenaline pumping. She needs them to stop paying attention to her. "I said I was fine, Berry! Leave me alone!" Quinn turns away from the other girl, but not before seeing the wounded expression on her face. Everyone else falls silent, shocked at her outburst. Quinn's gaze remains focused on her lap, but she can feel them staring at her. Mr. Schue coughs awkwardly.

"Well, that's that, then," he says, changing the subject, "So, let's, uh, let's rehearse, people!"

Quinn rises with the rest of them, feeling relieved. The relief, however, slowly dissipates as she goes through the set and finds that everyone is avoiding her eye; everyone but Rachel, who determinedly tries to act normal. Unfortunately, the brunette is just as bad at acting normal as Quinn is and ends up staring at her way too much for it to be anything but weird. When rehearsal is finally over, Quinn just ends up feeling terribly guilty.

It's funny, she thinks. She's a zombie-why the hell should she care about other people's feelings? There's something incredibly wrong with the image of a flesh eating zombie tearing itself up with guilt because it made a girl sad. Seriously, it's like putting mayonnaise on chocolate or frying pickles.

The thing is, she does care. Ever since her life did a 180, that pesky conscience thing won't go back to where it was when she was HBIC. She's not a saint and she never will be, but she's learned that if you want people to be nice to you, you better damn well be nice to them, too. Maybe if Rachel was being annoying she wouldn't mind as much, but the girl was just worried about her. She didn't deserve to be yelled at like that.

"Hey," she says to Mercedes, coming to a decision, "Do you think you can wait for a bit?" The two of them were walking to the car, but Mercedes stops and turns to face her. She gives Quinn an understanding look.

"Sure," the diva gives her the go-ahead, "if you hurry, maybe you can still catch her." Quinn flashes her friend a small smile before turning and dashing the other direction. Hopefully, Rachel is still around somewhere.

…Forty two classrooms, supply closets, and extraneous other rooms later, Quinn is forced to conclude that Rachel is _not _still around somewhere. However, as she stalks through empty hallways, frustrated, she spots the McKinley girls' locker room outside through a classroom window. It's the one place she hasn't looked in yet. But, Quinn rationalizes, it's not like Rachel would be in there when she could be in the auditorium or something instead. There was no need to go look in it.

Mercedes is still waiting for Quinn by the car. She raises an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Quinn how the search went. Quinn shakes her head, and they climb into the car in silence, with Mercedes taking the wheel.

"Was that a pregnancy thing?" Mercedes asks, breaking the quiet, "The whole exaggerated moods stuff?"

"Yeah," Quinn says, grateful for the excuse. "You know those pregnancy hormones…it's like going through puberty and menopause at the same time." Mercedes wrinkles her nose.

"Did you have to describe it like that?" she responds, disgusted. "Say something else, please." Quinn rolls her eyes, but the other girl's reaction draws a smile out of her.

"Just be thankful it's not you," she sighs dramatically, "Your already exaggerated persona combined with pregnancy hormones would be a scary thing to see." Mercedes slaps Quinn's arm in mock annoyance. "Hey!" Quinn protests, although her smile gives her away. "Both hands on the wheel."

"Girl, you tease me one more time and you'll be saying bye-bye to your own room and hello to couch living," the other girl retorts, "because I'm sure Puck would love to have you back. I bet he'll be willing to do his nails with you instead." Both girls look at each other simultaneously with shared smiles on their faces, before giggling at the thought. Puck, barefoot and wiggling brightly colored toes-definitely a laugh worthy image.

"Yeah, well as tempting as that sounds I think I'd rather stay where I am," Quinn tells Mercedes truthfully. She's really thankful that they've given her a place to stay; Puck is a nice guy (usually) but she knows that he'll start to expect things out of her, things she's not sure she can give him. Especially now.

"I get it," Mercedes says knowingly. "You just couldn't give up on the bacon, could you?" She maneuvers the car into the Jones' driveway. "I wouldn't be able to stand it either." Quinn groans.

"One stray comment about not being allowed to eat bacon," she says, "and suddenly you think I'm some kind of fanatic."

"And you're saying you aren't?" is all Mercedes says, before flouncing out of the car and practically running up to the door. Quinn throws the car door open.

"Do you always have to give yourself the last word?" she calls after the other girl. "You are such a drama queen!" Shaking her head, but with an affectionate smile on her face, Quinn treks up to the door after Mercedes.

After dinner, Quinn reluctantly opens the closet door. Frank is still where she left him, of course, and his expression is a mixture of boredom and resentment.

"Look who's here," he drawls. "Did you bring me any food?" Quinn gives him a quizzical look. She leaves the closet door open and goes to sit on her bed, while Frank remains on top of a pair of folded jeans.

"Why would I bring you any food?" she asks. "You don't have a stomach, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Frank responds with a petulant tone, "but haven't you ever heard 'it's the thought that counts'? It's nice to see you've been thinking of me. How did school go?"

"I don't really know," Quinn admits a bit sheepishly, "I wasn't really paying attention because I was afraid that everyone would find out I was…you know."

"Dead?" Frank supplies. At Quinn's fierce glare, he rolls his eyes and tries again. "Oh, sorry, I meant 'living impaired.'" Quinn can tell that if he still had hands, Frank would be doing air quotes. "It's no big deal; you're just a little bit on the pale side and your body temperature is lower than normal."

"You're the second one who's mentioned that," Quinn says thoughtfully, "I wonder why."

"It's because you don't have any blood," Frank explains. "Just be thankful that you aren't rotting like the zombies in the movies. Anyways, as great as being a zombie is, we need to get started on that cure. Get a pen and paper, kid; I need you to fetch me some supplies." Quinn dutifully does and writes down everything he tells her to. Besides needing to ask him about the spelling, the task is pretty easy. Getting the supplies, though…

"How am I supposed to find this stuff?" Quinn asks, brows furrowing. "I'm pretty sure they don't sell this at RiteAid, and I can barely pronounce most of it."

"You'll figure it out," Frank says cheerfully, "I have faith in you." Quinn merely groans at this and flops backwards onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. She contemplates it for a while, eyes tracing the flaws in the paint.

"Hey, Frank," Quinn begins softly; "do you really think you can find a cure?" Frank doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Quinn can tell he's taking her question seriously.

"I don't know," Frank says honestly. "Do you know the difference between a virus and bacteria?" He waits a bit for Quinn to respond, but when she doesn't he continues, "A bacteria is a micro-organism that invades the body and attacks the cells. We treat those with antibiotics. A virus, on the other hand…it takes over the body's cells. Like, let's say that a car is a normal cell. If nothing happened to it, the car would just stay in one place all day. But a driver-which we'll liken to a virus-goes into the car and makes it do what they want it to." Frank sighs. "Diseases like the common cold are caused by viruses, and technically they have no cure; we just have to depend on the body to fight it off. Zombiism is also caused by a virus, I believe."

"Does that mean there is no cure?" Quinn asks fearfully.

"None that modern medicine has found, no," Frank tells her gravely, "but I've come up with a couple theories. I think that maybe I could make a counter-virus out of the zombie one-a separate strain, one that would be benign and would attack the original by trying to retake the body's cells. Through that, we could get rid of the zombie virus and bring our cells back to normal. That's what I've been trying to do."

"Oh," Quinn says, but she really has no idea what he's saying. However, if it has any possibility of working she's willing to give it a shot. She's not giving up.

"Hey Quinn," Mercedes says cheerfully, throwing the door open, "Wanna do your nails with me?" The blond is so startled by the intrusion that she jumps up, panicked, and ends up falling on the floor with a loud thud. Mercedes gives her a strange look, while Frank looks on with an amused smile.

"Is something wrong?" Mercedes asks. Quinn shakes her head emphatically, rising quickly to her feet.

"Wrong? No, no, nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" Quinn babbles, rushing to the other girl and beginning to push her out of the door. "I'd love to do my nails with you."

"Quinn, why are you pushing me out of the door?" Mercedes asks, sounding a little alarmed.

"Oh, you know how these rooms are, so small and stuff," Quinn says frantically, letting out a titter of laughter, "I just need to, you know, do that thing in rooms that people do. The ones that require privacy. I swear, nothing wrong ever goes on in here; wrong looks at this room and thinks 'hey, I don't want to go in there,' because it knows that wrong stuff isn't allowed. And hey, how 'bout those Dodgers?" Finally, Quinn manages to shove Mercedes out of the room and shuts the door. She leans against it, sighing deeply, as Frank chuckles quietly.

"Word vomit, much?" he sniggers. Quinn glares at him before shutting the closet door. Then she turns back to the door and opens it apprehensively, afraid of Mercedes' reaction. The other girl is standing with her arms crossed and taps her foot impatiently with a long suffering expression on her face.

"Did you steal some pudding out of the fridge again?" Mercedes asks, "Because you know I don't care about that anymore." She pins Quinn in place with a level stare. "I'm beginning to think that Santana is right-you really need to switch to decaf." Quinn just laughs nervously.

"So…nails?"

**A/N: **Okay, just to be clear: all that stuff I wrote about a cure for viruses was total BS. If modern medicine has no way of curing it, there's no way I could come up with one! I hope you'll excuse me for just making up something that sounded like it could be possible-I still wanted to give them a shot at it.

Also, I obviously changed the mythology for zombies quite a bit. The ones here aren't the rotting type, because if they were zombies would end up being unable to move within a few days. A combination of decomposers like flies and maggots and such, coupled with the normal rate at which the human body rots _and _things like the weather would make the zombies deteriorate at a pretty fast rate. I wanted Quinn and Frank to be able to last, so I made it that they're bodies were basically preserved. They can still get cuts and stuff, though, and the cuts would be permanent. However, the only zombies that would end up looking like the ones on the movies would have to be extremely careless-or out of their mind with hunger and unconcerned about that.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning goes much the same as the previous. Frank still whines when Quinn insists on leaving him at home, but this time Quinn has a mission: the list of items needed to begin working on a cure is tucked safely in her back pocket. How the heck she's going to get them, however, is still a mystery.

The day goes much the same as well, only this time Quinn is able to give a modicum of effort in actually paying attention. She's still a little self conscious, but Frank's assurances have done well at lifting her spirits and plus, if they didn't notice yesterday it's unlikely that they will today.

Of course, she was planning on apologizing to Rachel. That's something different.

She only saw the other girl once, during passing period. The brunette was walking past, and the only indication she gave of noticing Quinn was a nod and a quiet hello. Quinn tried to talk to her for a moment, but Rachel ducked into the nearest classroom. And Quinn knows for sure that she just did that to avoid her-unless Rachel is really taking a class on Auto Mechanics. Somehow, she doesn't think that's the case.

The blond has to fight down an irrational annoyance at the thought of someone brushing her off, because she's Quinn freakin' Fabray here! But then she remembers that that doesn't really mean that much anymore. Also, it's stupid to be annoyed at someone she's trying to apologize to; it makes the whole 'I'm sorry' thing come off as sarcastic or untrue, and she does mean it this time.

Today they don't have glee after school, so she knows that she won't be able to see Rachel then. They also don't have any classes together today-McKinley runs on block scheduling. If the other girl is trying to avoid her, it won't be hard. It seems like Quinn is going to have to take drastic measures.

It's with disgust curling in the pit of her stomach and great reluctance that Quinn seeks out Jacob Ben Israel after school.

The creepy kid leers at her in a way only Puck can pull off-on him it just looks 100 times dirtier-and Quinn shudders convulsively. He's standing alone next to his locker, and when she approaches he takes off his glasses and wipes them before putting them on again. It's almost like he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Hi Jacob," Quinn says, the name sounding foreign to her (because he's always been Jacob Ben Israel or JewFro). "I have something I want to ask you."

"Really?" he asks, sounding positively delighted, "Are you going to ask me out? I'm afraid that my heart and soul belong to only one person right now, but I'm sure I can be convinced if you beg me."

"Besides in your delusions, there is no way I'd ever consider doing something like that," Quinn says, eyes narrowing in a mixture of annoyance and distaste. JewFro has the nerve not to look intimidated by her glare-God she misses being HBIC. "I swear, JewFro, you're going to give me nightmares."

"That's not how you ask for favors," Jacob Ben Israel says reproachfully. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"I'm sorry, _Jacob_," she spits out. "If you don't mind terribly much, do you think you could tell me where Rachel is?" She's pretty sure the guy keeps tabs on Rachel; if anyone would know where she is it's her stalker.

"It depends," he says, "what are you going to do for me?"

"What do you want?" Quinn asks, annoyed. His face lights up.

"Well," JewFro says slowly, "I guess you could give me a pair of used underwear. I've only got one right now, and it's getting lonely. Or…you could tell me why Quinn Fabray would ever want to talk to Rachel Berry. I'm sure that would be an interesting story to have on my blog."

"I don't even want to know what poor sap ended up giving you their underwear," Quinn says, nose wrinkled in distaste, "and I'm definitely not giving you mine."

"Then you're going to tell me what you need Rachel for?" JewFro presses. Quinn hates that she's seriously considering which choice would be better. Should she give up her underwear and never be able to look at the guy without shuddering (well, she kind of does that already) or should she admit that she wants to apologize to Rachel? She finds the second choice almost more mortifying than the first-Quinn isn't used to apologizing yet, especially not to social pariahs like Rachel. Plus, the very act of apologizing implies that she did something wrong, and she doesn't want this freak to know that Quinn is human too. She doesn't want him to see her soft underbelly, because she knows Jacob Ben Israel, despite living on the fringes of McKinley's social life, will rip into her just as gleefully as the ones on the top who abandoned her.

"You know what?" Quinn says slowly, coming to a decision. "I don't think I want to do either."

"Well, then," Jacob says, sounding disappointed, "I guess I'll just be going, then-"

"No," Quinn steps up, eyes flashing dangerously. She's shorter than the boy, but she still manages to look down on him. "I'm not finished." She pokes JewFro in his weak, scrawny chest. "You, you don't get to demand anything out of me. I may not be head cheerleader anymore, but even a pregnant girl like me outranks a loser like you. I'm not going to lie down and let you step all over me just because you have something I want. You know what I'm going to do instead? I'm going to pry the information I need out of you, and then you're going to go on living this pathetic thing you call your life; where girls would sooner kiss a horse than kiss you, and all the guys in the math team compare themselves to you to make them seem manlier."

"You are going to tell me, _right now_, where Rachel Berry is, before I rip off your balls and hang them on the flagpole," Quinn finishes, "and that's assuming you even have any." Finally, _finally_ Jacob Ben Israel is looking at her with that fearful look that she's used to seeing off of him.

"She-she's in the science lab," JewFro stutters, "f-finishing up a proj-a project."

"There," Quinn says, giving him a smile that's all teeth and no warmth, "was that so hard?" Still smiling, Quinn turns around and walks away purposefully. As she turns, her hair ends up flying and hitting Jacob Ben Israel in the face, and she makes a mental note to take a shower again later.

Quinn's not going to lie-tearing into the boy like that felt really good. She's still on an adrenaline high right now, and so she's practically skipping to the science lab (as much as one can skip when they're pregnant). It feels like it's been a long time since she's really gone into bitch mode, and now it seems like all these people think she's been beat. It's nice to prove them wrong.

It also helps that JewFro was the one who made her pregnant status public. It's because of him that she's like this now; where people she once thought of as her friends don't even want to be seen with her. Hell, it's his fault people stare when she walks past, and it's his fault they whisper behind her back. She deserves a little payback, and yelling at him felt like sticking the finger to all the other kids who thought it was okay to laugh at her because she made a mistake.

"Hi!" Quinn says cheerfully, bouncing into the science lab. Rachel is standing at a table with clear plastic goggles on, carefully adding a test tube of some green chemical to a larger beaker. At Quinn's interruption, the girl starts and ends up spilling all over the desk. She curses softly, and then looks up. When Rachel sees Quinn, her eyes widen, before she averts her gaze.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel says almost nervously, "I didn't know that was you. You're sounding…very pleased today." She wrings her gloved hands. "Did you need something?"

"I think you're going to need to clean that up," Quinn points out, her good mood dampening slightly at the other girl's reaction to her. Sure, she didn't expect a hug or anything, but she can't be that bad, right?

"Oh, yes," Rachel nods, before moving jerkily to a paper towel dispenser. She grabs a few and proceeds with mopping up the mess. The room descends into an uneasy silence.

"So…what are you doing?" Quinn asks cautiously, "and I hope you're good at science because I think an explosion would be a bit hard to clean up."

"Actually," Rachel says, "the point of my experiment was to make an explosion. I'm working on designing a miniature rocket." She throws the soggy towels away carefully. "Now, small talk aside, I'd really like to know your true purpose for coming here. You and I both know that I'm not the one you come to when you're bored." The brunette snorts a little bit. "Unless, of course, your way to alleviate that boredom is by making fun of me." Okay, well that definitely killed her good mood.

"I came to apologize for the way I treated you yesterday," Quinn says honestly. "You were only worried about me, after all, and I totally freaked out on you. I'm sorry." Rachel finally looks up at this, surprise evident on her features.

"I know that I have impeccable hearing," Rachel begins, "and yet somehow I still believe that I must have heard wrong. Were you really apologizing to me? You? To me?" At Quinn's tentative nod, Rachel blinks. She peels off her gloves, lifts the goggles off her face, and rubs her eyes. "I think I must be more tired than I thought I was."

Hurt and embarrassed at the level of the other girl's disbelief, Quinn tries to make a hasty escape.

"Well, that's it, then," Quinn says quickly, "I hope you forgive me and everything, and I'll see you tomor-"

"Wait!" Rachel blurts out, looking a little ashamed. "Wait, Quinn." The brunette steps around the table until she's standing in front of Quinn.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Rachel says sheepishly, "I'm not used to people apologizing to me, especially you. In fact, I had that listed as almost as impossible as Santana telling everyone that she actually really loves, well, anything, and Finn getting an A in math. I hope you'll forgive my reaction."

"It's fine," Quinn tells her, still embarrassed, "You don't have to apologize-that's what I was trying to do." Rachel shakes her head.

"I'm going to anyways. The reason you're apologizing to me is because you didn't react in a way that was appropriate to the situation, and that's exactly what I just did. So, consider us even."

"…Okay," Quinn concedes. They share a smile. "I forgive you. Do you forgive me?"

"I do," Rachel says firmly. They stand there for a while, just grinning at each other, and then Quinn realizes-God, she's having a weird moment thing with _Rachel Berry_. She's smiling an actual genuine smile at _Rachel Berry_. This is officially one of the strangest moments of Quinn's (un)life.

"So…"Quinn coughs, breaking the spell, "…you're making a rocket, huh? I don't remember our biology teacher assigning a project like that."

"Yeah," Rachel replies blinking a bit. She's obviously still a little dazed from whatever it was that possessed them earlier and caused them to have _a moment_. "That's because Ms. Gundry never assigned it to the class. It's something extracurricular she's allowing me to do, since biology is something easy for me. I do have two doctor dads, after all."

"Really?" Quinn asks, before the meaning behind that really hits her. "Really! So they, like, work at the hospital and stuff?"

"Well, yes," Rachel says, confused as to what the big deal is. "Don't doctors normally work at hospitals?" Quinn beams, then takes off her bag and pats the back of her jeans. She pulls out the list of supplies Frank needs, holding it up triumphantly. Rachel is understandably bewildered, and eyes the slip of paper suspiciously. "Quinn…what is that?"

"It's just some stuff I need," Quinn explains, "for my own extracurricular project. Do you think you can ask your dads to get this for me?"

"I suppose I could," Rachel responds hesitantly, still eying the paper as if it might explode at any moment. "What are you doing?"

"It's…it's a secret," Quinn says earnestly, "like a surprise. I can't tell you." Rachel looks even more suspicious at that. Her eyes narrow and they move from the list to Quinn's face and back.

"I don't know if I should…" Rachel begins, but Quinn cuts her off.

"Please," she begs, "I'll do anything you want if you do this for me." She really needs these supplies if she ever wants to stop being a zombie; Rachel's dads are the only way she'll be able to get them. Rachel's face brightens.

"Anything…?" Quinn nods frantically.

"Yeah, anything!" Rachel smiles.

"Okay," she says with determination, "I'll procure the supplies for you, if in exchange you agree to go to the nurse's office with me and get checked out." Quinn's jaw drops open.

"You did say 'anything,'" Rachel points out, noticing her horrified expression, "and even if you insisted you were fine yesterday, I'd rather not take the risk. Precautions are necessary if we're to be in top condition for Regionals, and even if you're perfectly healthy it never hurts to double check."

"I-I can't," Quinn says desperately, "Can't it be anything else?" Rachel scowls at her.

"I don't see what the problem is," Rachel states, frustrated, "it's not like Ms. Schuester is our nurse anymore. You have to admit it, Quinn, your skin tone is really unnatural, and you're wearing a sweater."

"I'm cold!" Quinn protests.

"It's almost summer!" Rachel barks back.

"Why are you so worried about me anyways?" Quinn asks, looking anywhere but at Rachel. "It's not your problem, right?" Rachel doesn't say anything for a long moment, before sighing.

"It is my problem," she sighs again, "because I am a part of glee, as are you, and we are supposed to be a team. If a member of the team is looking down, then it should be the job of the rest to look after them. Also…" Rachel pauses, "while you may not see me in the same way, I consider you and everyone else in glee my friends. Of course I'd worry about you."

"Why would you?" Quinn wonders softly, "It's not like we treat you the same way." Rachel shrugs.

"When you have nothing, you learn to take what you can get," Rachel says simply. "And I know that while they wouldn't hang out with me, they are willing to protect me." Rachel smiles. "The thing with Jesse showed me that." She shakes her head a little bit, then looks back up at Quinn. "Anyways, I still don't understand why you're so adamant against going to the nurse's office. Perhaps if you explained it to me…could that be my 'anything'?"

"I…" Quinn begins, sounding unsure, "I don't think I can tell you…" Rachel looks upset again.

"You can trust me with whatever it is," she insists, "I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Like you did with Finn?" Quinn says bitingly.

"I thought you weren't upset at me for that."

"Well, maybe I am," she says stubbornly. Rachel looks aggravated.

"It was a secret that was hurting him!"

"What if this is a secret that's hurting people?"

"Is it? As far as I can tell, this is a secret that's only hurting you, Quinn." Rachel massages her temple, sighing deeply. "I would protect your secrets, believe me. I hope you know you can trust me." Here, Rachel lifts her head to glare straight into Quinn's eyes. "And even if you don't, I won't give you what you want until you tell me."

Quinn finds herself seriously contemplating treating Rachel just like she did JewFro; forcing her to do what she wants. However, deep down she knows that she can entertain the thought, but she can't actually do it. Rachel isn't like JewFro.

"Fine," Quinn gives up. "I'll tell you everything."

**A/N: **Honestly, I had way too much fun writing Quinn being a bitch to Jacob Ben Israel. It's just me, wishing I had the guts to do that to the jerks in real life :( I'm projecting. Also, I'm pretty sure Quinn doesn't know that Rachel's the poor sap who gave up her underwear, and that's to be expected. If it were me, I would never tell anyone either.

Also, JewFro may have acted a little out of character when he assumed Quinn would ask him out, but I put that there because I felt he's the type of little weasel who would do and say whatever he wants when he knows people want something from him because he can get away with it. And why else would people approach him if they don't want something?

Kenmura-it's cool to know my compulsive need to research everything came in handy :) As for what I'm doing with this, it's not that I've got it all planned out. However, I've got 'checkpoints;' I think 'this needs to happen here, and then so on and so forth' but I don't actually plan the how. I've got a definite grasp on the ending though (not that I'm going to tell you about it :P).

Twilight-Tayla-Quinn wants to eat people just as much as you do(which hopefully is not that much), so she's definitely going to try not to. We'll see...

Vaniagon17-haha, yeah if they were both zombies they could totally kiss :P I find the thought funny though...it's a kiss to die for(literally!).

Oh, and I really have no idea what Mr. & Mr. Berry do, but I've read a lot of stuff where one (or both) of them are doctors, so I just took the idea and ran with it.


	4. Chapter 4

It's with great apprehension that Quinn leads Rachel to her car. She insisted that she wouldn't tell the other girl anything unless she came, which was why they were currently driving to Mercedes' house. Of course, Rachel had had a little freak out session. She somehow got the idea that Quinn was planning on taking her to a secluded area to murder her so Rachel couldn't pry anymore. Really, the thought was ridiculous.

It's not to say that Quinn doesn't want Rachel to stop snooping around in her life, because she does. Quinn really doesn't get why Rachel even cares, but she'll give the girl one thing: she's stubborn. When Rachel wants something, she focuses everything she's got into getting it, and this time it seems like Rachel wants in on Quinn's personal business. It's like the blond has no choice but to give up. Rachel's persistent; she's like a bloodhound on a scent. It's aggravating and admirable all at the same time.

"Do you think it's okay for me to be here?" Rachel whispers apprehensively as they enter Mercedes' house. The Jones parents are still working, and Mercedes was on a shopping spree with Kurt, so it's just the two of them. Or at least that's what Rachel thought.

"It's fine," Quinn says offhandedly, too worried about what she's about to reveal to the other girl to care what the Joneses may think about their impromptu guest. "You're with me, so you'll be okay."

Rachel still seems a bit nervous though, and stays close behind Quinn until they get to her room. Then, she perches uncomfortably on the bed. She looks around, before her eyes finally land on Quinn's.

"So," she says, clearing her throat, "am I finally going to hear the big secret?" Quinn shifts her weight from foot to foot, clearing her throat.

"Uh…" she mumbles, stalling for time. Quinn knows that Rachel needs to know, but at the same time saying it all out loud makes it real. She doesn't want to think about it too deeply. "I think," she says, coming to a decision. In the end, she's still a huge coward. "I'm going to take a shower. I've got JewFro cooties."

"JewFro...you mean Jacob Ben Israel?" Rachel asks, confused. "Why would you have his cooties? And wait-" she glares at Quinn, "shower? Aren't you supposed to be telling me something?" Quinn bites her bottom lip, nervously chewing on it.

"Yeah, I asked him where you were today," Quinn responds, "and I ended up touching him a little bit." She sighs deeply. "It's all your fault for avoiding me…and now I need to take a shower." Rachel looks a bit guilty at this.

"I'm sorry; I understand that he can be a difficult person to deal with. Did he force you to-Wait!" Rachel narrows her eyes. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you? It won't work."

"Damn," Quinn mutters halfheartedly. She didn't think it would; Rachel's already here, after all. "But really, you don't need me around for this." The brunette on her bed tilts her head in confusion, and Quinn elaborates. "When I go into the shower, wait until you can here the water starting, and then open the closet door. Everything will be explained. And-" she raises her voice "-try not to freak her out too much." She hears the third person in the room snigger and say 'you don't think my appearance is freaky enough?' but Rachel still looks bewildered.

"I don't understand what it is you're trying to do here," she says slowly, "but I'll follow your instructions regardless." Quinn smiles at her thankfully and leaves the room.

She steps into the quiet bathroom and sighs deeply, leaning against a tiled wall. It's incredibly still and peaceful in here and Quinn feels herself relaxing a little bit. However, the little butterflies in her stomach are going crazy at the thought of what's about to happen in the other room.

Quinn knows she's not brave. If she was, why the hell would she have kept so many secrets? The thing is, she's tried so hard to make everyone happy, and most of the time the truth hurts, a lot. It's just so much easier to lie and lie and starting believing that the lie is the reality. And although she does try to make people happy, a huge part of it is just her trying to protect herself. She's scared. Right now, she can still pretend all of it was a bad nightmare; she can stop herself from facing the truth that this is her reality. She's already accepted that she's a zombie, but there's another truth, looming underneath that one that she can't face yet. Even the thought of it makes her feel sick.

So yeah, she should've had the guts to tell Rachel what's happening face-to-face. She doesn't, though.

Quinn takes her clothes off very slowly. She glances briefly at the makeshift bandage on her arm, which she leaves on. It's just another thing she can't face. When she's done, Quinn takes a deep breath, then turns the shower on. She steps in carefully, ears on the alert. She doesn't have to wait long, as an incredibly loud, high F echoes throughout the house. Rachel had opened the closet door.

After what feels like eons the scream tapers out, and the resulting silence feels heavy and oppressive. As the water pounds down on her from above, she wonders what's happening in the other room; what Rachel's reaction is. She doesn't really want to know.

When Quinn steps out of the longest shower she's ever taken in her life, she walks cautiously back to her room clad only in a towel. When she gets to the door, she just stands there for a long time, trying to listen in on the conversation. She hears Frank's low timbre and Rachel's higher voice mix together in a pretty nice way, but they're whispering. She steels herself for what's coming, and slowly opens the door. The voices abruptly stop.

The both of them are already staring at her as she walks through the door, and it's unsettling having two sets of brown eyes examining her like that. She holds the towel tighter to herself.

"Hey," Quinn says nervously. There's no response from Rachel, and her already dwindling confidence falters even more. She stops talking.

Rachel is staring at her with huge eyes and her mouth is slightly open. It's a dopey look that Quinn could have found totally adorable (not in that it's cute or anything but like one of those 'aww look at how out of it they look' kinds of things that Finn is so good at) if it didn't scare her to death. She wonders if Rachel's looking at her with new, unclouded eyes and is seeing her…zombie-ness or whatever. The thought makes her feel even more self-conscious.

"Don't mind her," Frank says cheerfully, "She's just in shock. I hear seeing talking heads does that to you; I don't really know, I don't have many to ask." He chuckles a bit, but no one laughs with him. Eventually, even Frank shuts up.

"Rachel…" Quinn finally whispers, unable to take it anymore. "…please stop staring at me like that."

Rachel blinks and abruptly closes her mouth with an audible snap. She turns away, flushing, and plays with the edge of her skirt. Quinn's eyes end up being drawn to the movement a bit, but they snap back up as soon as Rachel speaks.

"Quinn…" the brunette coughs a bit, "maybe you should put on some clothes?"

"…what?" Quinn asks dumbly, totally not understanding what the other girl just said.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Frank exclaims, looking irked. "You just learned she was an undead zombie, had one of the hugest freakouts I've ever seen (seriously, her's was worse than your's, Quinn; this chick's got a flair for drama), and you've been ranting at me nonstop. And when we finally get to the best part, where there's the reunion with deep, dark secrets out in the open…instead of screaming or crying I get treated to THIS?" Frank glares and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'teenagers.' Quinn ignores him.

"That's it?" she prods, not believing she's being let off the hook so easily. This is Rachel Berry, for Christ's sake-where is the drama? Of course, right after wondering that Quinn thinks-why the hell does she care? She should be thanking her lucky stars or whatever that her expectations fell flat.

It does feel a little anticlimactic though.

"Not everything about me is dramatic," Rachel says defensively, still not looking anywhere near Quinn. "Sometimes I enjoy being calm and serene. Like a lake. It shakes people up; reminds them that I'm unpredictable. And anyways," she emphasizes this part, "I find it horribly weird when people stare at me when I'm garbed in practically nothing, so I assumed you would feel the same. I'm only trying to look out for your feelings, Quinn." Quinn only raises one eyebrow, confused.

"Are you saying you would stare if you didn't think it was weird?"

"I-I didn't say anything of the sort!" Rachel denies, shaking her head so rapidly it looks majorly uncomfortable.

"I'm pretty sure that's what you implied, though, right?"

"No, no implications-" when she hears Quinn take a breath to ask another question, Rachel rapidly intervenes with "-Quinn, you're a zombie!"

…

…Well, that was subtle (not).

"There we go," Frank says, sounding relieved, "finally, we're getting to the good stuff. Go on, friend of Quinn's, continue."

He makes a disappointed little whining sound when no one does.

"…I suppose," Rachel begins quietly, many terse silent moments later, "it does answer the question of why you got so defensive when I wanted to take you to the nurse's office. I admit to finding the story unbelievable at first, but when presented with irrefutable proof of the existence of zombies," here, she gestures vaguely in Frank's direction, still not looking up from her lap, "and with your strange behavior and physical attributes of the past few days, it seems I have no choice to accept it as the truth. Quinn…you really are…"

"Stop, please," Quinn interrupts. "I already know the specifics, so there's no need for you to spell it out for me."

"She's got this thing," Frank says conspiratorially to Rachel, "with talking about that. I think it's commonly referred to as denial, but what do I know? I'm just a head."

"Shut up, please."

"Hey, you said please! At least you're being polite about it."

"Frank. Shut. Up."

"…Okay, okay. Sheesh, you're worse than my mother-in-law."

Quinn's still staring at Rachel, who's still staring at her lap. Frank is periodically switching his gaze from Quinn to Rachel, somehow managing to look expectant and bored at the same time. It's like he thinks he's watching a god damn episode of a Lifetime soap or something.

"Do you…do you eat people or anything?" Rachel asks, sounding seriously disturbed by the thought. Oh yeah, Quinn forgot she was a vegan. 'Yay, animals!' or something. She supposes eating people would be considered a lot worse than, say, steak or eggs.

"…No," Quinn answers, "I haven't. And it's funny, but I haven't had any cravings for it yet or anything."

"It's because you're still 'new,'" Frank says, ignoring the fact that Quinn told him to shut up only five minutes previous, "The hunger will probably hit you pretty soon. I didn't get mine for a while, but I think it's because I was technically still 'alive.'"

"What? How?" Quinn wonders, shifting her attention from Rachel to Frank. She's glad for the distraction.

"I think I was still alive. I don't remember being killed, anyways, unless someone happened to poison me-but let's face it, who would want to do that?"

"Who would indeed?" Quinn mutters under her breath.

"I think," Frank continues, "that zombie-ification is more of an in-between thing than anything else. Zombies are supposed to be dead, but here we are, still talking and eating and are bodies are still functioning. Of course, ignoring the whole instant preservation of said bodies and flesh eating tendencies, we're a lot like the living. I think it can go both ways-when a living person becomes zombie-ified they become closer to death but not dead. And when a dead person becomes zombie-ified they become closer to living but aren't. So yeah, a zombie is kinda like the stage in-between both. At least, that's what I think."

"It never ceases to amaze me," Quinn responds, "that someone as freaky as you can end up sounding so smart."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"And," Rachel interrupts, "what about a cure?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm working on," Frank supplies. "Give me the stuff, and I'll try and whip up something to cure zombiism and prevent the zombie apocalypse! ...Hey, I sound pretty heroic."

"So," Rachel presses, clenching and unclenching her hands, "you could potentially…un-zombie-ify people? It's fixable?" Frank looks distinctly uncomfortable at her continued questions, but he answers hesitantly.

"Yes…potentially. Remember, I don't have any real results yet." Despite the slightly negative tone he says it in; Rachel still lets out a huge sigh of relief and visibly relaxes.

"Good." As she says this, Rachel looks up to shoot Quinn a wide smile that promptly freezes on her face. Apparently, her relief was so great she forgot about Quinn's current state of (un)dress. And thus begins another awkward moment.

Quinn doesn't really get where the other girl's discomfort stems from. Has she never seen girls changing in a locker room before? Then again, Quinn has no idea if Rachel does a sport at school. She realizes suddenly that she doesn't know much of anything about this girl.

"I'll just, uh, get some clothes," Quinn says uncomfortably, as Rachel is still frozen. She creeps around the other girl and towards the closet. When she's halfway there, however, the door is promptly thrown open.

"Hey, Quinn, you're home! I just got back from…" Mercedes trails off as she takes in the room and her eyes widen. It's a pretty strange sight: Quinn is in the middle of walking, towel still clutched firmly to herself and head turned toward her with a shocked expression. In the closet, Mercedes sees a big plastic jar with a…with a…h-head…looking thing in it. And in the middle of it all sits Rachel Berry, looking hugely uncomfortable and furiously playing with her fingers.

"…You know what?" Mercedes says, sounding a bit dazed, "I'm going to walk right back out of this room. And when I come back, which will probably be a lot later, what's happening in here will look more like what reality is supposed to look like, and I know reality doesn't involve half naked Quinns and Rachel Berrys and head…things in jars." With that, the girl slowly turns around, and walks carefully out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. The three occupants of the room stare back at the door.

"…What do you think she thought we were doing?" Quinn asks apprehensively. Frank snickers.

"I don't know…roleplaying? Something kinky, for sure."

Rachel and Quinn groan simultaneously, and Quinn quickly grabs some clothes and runs to the bathroom. She's never going to take another shower without having clothes already at hand ever again.

**A/N:** Okay, now Rachel knows. I think it's safe to say the exposition part is over! Yay! \(^.^)/ And poor Mercedes...she always walks in on the weirdest things.

I really considered having Quinn tell Rachel about the situation herself, but then I thought about it and realized Quinn never willingly reveals her secrets to anyone in the show. All of it has been forced out in one way or the other and revealed by other people: Rachel to Finn, Finn to Mr & Ms. Fabray, and Mr. Schue figured Terri out on his own. If it were up to Quinn, she probably would have kept lying to them and herself about what was happening. So in my story, Rachel is forcing Quinn to tell her the truth about her undeadness, and Quinn needs to actually willingly give up her secret. But hey, it's not like the girl has much practice with that, so understandably she chickens out (I do that too). That conclusion led to me thinking of ways she could get out of it, which led to the shower thing, which led to the whole mess after that.

In other, unrelated news-I walked past a crime scene on my way to work. O.O It was a bit freaky, and apparently the tent I walked by had the body in it.


	5. Chapter 5

When Quinn is properly dressed and Rachel is able to look her in the eye (or just in general) again, they quickly go to try and explain what happened to Mercedes.

"It was nothing," Quinn says desperately to the diva. They're sitting around the kitchen table right now and Mercedes is chowing down on a sandwich she prepared herself. The parentals are having a movie date night thing; something about needing to 'water a relationship to keep it growing.' Quinn thinks it's the cutest thing she's ever heard, and she can't help but think that if her parents watered their relationship a bit more often it wouldn't have died of dehydration. All it means to Mercedes is that they have to prepare their own food, and more often than not they end up eating the microwaveable stuff.

"Quinn is absolutely right," Rachel chimes in, "although we may have looked strange, there was in actuality nothing strange at all going on."

"Forget it," Mercedes says flatly, "don't try and explain anything to me. Please. I'm going to forget it even happened."

"But-" Quinn protests.

"No!" Mercedes interrupts. "I feel like it takes a special brand of crazy to understand what's going on in your head, and I don't have it so why bother trying?" Quinn pouts, but gives up. She has no idea what she could've said anyways. Mercedes gives Rachel a sideways glance.

"So…are you going to be spending the night or something?" Mercedes looks like she doesn't know what to feel about that thought. "Like a sleepover? Is that why you're here?"

Quinn opens her mouth to protest, because honestly this is the most time she's ever spent with Rachel outside of glee, when she looks at the other girl. When she does, suddenly the words die on her lips.

Rachel's got her elbows on the table and she's been keeping her head propped up the whole time. Her expression during the conversation had stayed stuck at the embarrassed stage, however at Mercedes' words it quickly changed. Now she's staring blankly, eyes wide and kind of glassy looking (is she about to cry? God, please don't cry!) and her mouth is open. It's an utterly shocked expression. Quinn is sure Rachel would be mortified to see what her face looks like right now, but it doesn't seem like her brain is working.

Just looking at her makes Quinn start to feel kind of embarrassed. Obviously, this sleepover thing is a big deal.

"Y-yeah," Quinn coughs awkwardly, "she's going to stay in my room with me tonight."

"Really?" Mercedes and Rachel ask at the same time, both sounding absolutely shocked. Their expressions are matching, too. Having both of them stare at her like that is making Quinn nervous.

"Really," Quinn says, trying to sound firm. They're both still gaping at her. "You can join us too, if you want, Mercedes."

"No thanks," the other girl responds, picking her jaw up off the ground, "I need peace and quiet if I want to go to sleep. And plus," here she looks at Quinn pointedly, "I thought you said the other day that you're room was 'small and stuff.' I'm sure three would make a pretty tight fit." Having finished her sandwich, the diva stands, brushing herself off. She flips her hair over her shoulder, gives the two of them one last parting glance, and leaves the kitchen. Quinn sighs deeply and buries her head in her arms.

"…you don't have to have me over if you don't want to," Rachel says quietly. Quinn peeks out at this, to see the brunette looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"You're already over," Quinn points out, "and it's no big deal. I don't mind."

"So it's really okay?"

"It's really okay," Quinn confirms. Rachel blinks, then says nothing as if waiting for Quinn to take it back. When she doesn't, the other girl's lips twitch and suddenly Quinn is treated with a full blown smile.

"Thank you!" Rachel says, beaming, "I'm going to call my dads really quick, do you mind if I use your phone?"

"Ah…sure, go ahead," Quinn replies, a bit dazed by her sudden change in mood. "It's over in the hallway." Rachel jumps up from her seat and skips-_skips!-_down the hallway, humming something that sounds suspiciously like the Sound of Music. Quinn shakes her head, bemused, and waits for the other girl to finish her phone call. She can't really hear what they're saying, but Rachel ends up emphasizing some words. So basically, all Quinn managed to hear was "sleepover," "Quinn," "I _know_!" "excited" and "Love you too, Daddy." The rest is an undistinguishable, high pitched twittering punctuated with occasional squealing. After a while, finally there is silence.

"My dads say it's okay," Rachel says, walking calmly back into the kitchen as if she didn't have a major squee-fest just moments before. Quinn merely stares in disbelief. This girl is…something, alright.

"Oookay," Quinn says, getting up slowly, "alright then…how about we get you something to sleep in?" Rachel nods eagerly and follows Quinn back to her room. She rummages around the closet and pulls old, huge, wrinkly T-shirt and a pair of PE shorts, which she throws at Rachel (ignoring Frank's greeting in the process). The other girl manages to catch the shirt, but Quinn inadvertently ends up hitting her in the face with the shorts. She makes a muffled offended sound.

"Sorry," Quinn apologizes, amused. Rachel pulls the shorts off of her face and mock glares at Quinn. Smiling, the blond shoos her off to change. Once Rachel's safely off to the bathroom, Quinn goes looking for spare sheets, pillows, and blankets. She lines the floor with them until it looks like her room is one huge, giant nest or something. Then she goes to the kitchen and grabs drinks and snacks. Hey, if they're doing this they might as well do it the right way.

When she gets back into her room, Rachel's already standing in the middle looking kind of lost. She's dressed in the oversized clothes Quinn gave her and is clutching the ones she was wearing to her chest.

"You can just put those in the closet," Quinn says, indicating the clothes, "and if you feel the urge to bury Frank underneath piles of clothing, please feel free."

"You guys are having a sleepover?" Frank exclaims, forcing his voice into a falsetto. "Yay, that is like, so totally awesome!" Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Yes, and I don't remember inviting you," she says, "and for the record, I don't know any girl who talks like that in real life." She silently pleads with Rachel with her eyes, hoping she'll get the message. She does. Giggling, Rachel throws her clothes on top of Frank's jar, and then grabs some sheets off the floor and covers him.

"Hey!" Frank yells, voice muffled, "attacking a disabled person is no fair!" He's laughing too, though. "I want in on the pillow fights, dammit!" Rachel leaves him under the sheets, and sits back on the ground, grinning. She looks up as Quinn sits down next to her, handing her some of her stash.

"Try not to spill anything," Quinn warns her, "because I'm going to have to clean it up."

"I won't," Rachel promises, accepting the food. She pops open a soda can, and then looks down almost…shyly? Rachel? No way.

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh?" she asks.

Quinn's first instinct is to say she'd never laugh at anything the other girl had to say, but then she realizes that's a lie. She's done it plenty of times.

"…No. I won't laugh," is what she says instead. Rachel cradles her can of soda, tracing the top with her thumbs. Her long brown hair curtains her face, so Quinn can only see the tip of her nose.

"This is the first time I've ever been able to go to a sleepover," Rachel admits. She waits, but when Quinn doesn't laugh or say anything at all, Rachel goes on. "I realize that a sleepover is an activity commonly enjoyed amongst girls. It's a friend thing…but I don't have any. As a result, I've never been able to experience one. And…" Rachel pauses, and when she begins again she sounds kind of guilty. "I love my dads, a lot. But…it's hard, having gay parents. People make assumptions about me; about what I'm like…they don't want me around at their sleepover because they think I'm…" Rachel stops again, shaking her head a little.

"Anyways," she says, sounding unsure but finally turning to gaze straight at Quinn, "I really appreciate you having me over. I know that the zombie virus is contagious, but…do you think perhaps a hug would be okay?"

Wow. Well, after that Quinn is pretty sure Rachel deserves a hug.

"I think so," Quinn says, feeling a little awkward, "hugs are fine. It's sharing blood and kissing we need to watch out for, and I don't think that's a problem." Quinn thinks she sees a flash of something (disappointment?) cross the other girl's face, but whatever it is disappears almost instantly. Rachel gently places her soda can on the floor, making sure it doesn't spill, before turning her body fully.

"Um…" she trails off, clearly not sure what to do now. Quinn makes an exasperated face at her hesitance-since when does Rachel Berry hesitate?-and moves forwards, wrapping her arms around the other girl.

"Sorry," she apologizes, "I'm kind of cold, I know. The whole not having blood thing…it sucks."

"It's fine," Rachel breathes, hugging her back. "This is fine. It's…it's perfect." They stay like that for a long while, before disentangling themselves. Now Quinn is the one who feels kind of weird. They share a small smile.

"That's your wound, right?" Rachel says suddenly, indicating towards her left arm. "Does it hurt?" Quinn turns to glance at it, before looking back at Rachel.

"No, not really…it's kind of like, ever since I've…you know, everything feels a lot…numb-er and fuzzy. I guess that means my sense of touch is off, or my nerves or whatever."

"Oh," Rachel responds, looking like she's not sure if she wants to know more. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Quinn says, smiling reassuringly, "I promised I'd tell you everything, so ask me whatever you want." Honestly, though, Quinn doesn't want to talk about this stuff anymore. She's not going to refuse to answer any of Rachel's questions, but she hopes that the other girl will stop asking them. When Rachel does ask another question, however, it's definitely one that Quinn doesn't expect.

"Quinn," Rachel begins seriously, staring straight into her eyes, "I said I appreciate what you're doing for me, but I have to know…Is this out of pity? Are you being so nice to me because you feel sorry for me?"

"Wha-"

"I know that I probably seem really pathetic to you-to everyone. The girl with no friends, who's never been on a sleepover before, who always gets slushied…and it's true that there are a lot of things about me that I can be unhappy about." Rachel bites her lip, before continuing.

"But there are a lot of things that I know I'm lucky to have. I know, for instance, that I'm particularly talented at singing and dancing, and I have two parents who love me to pieces, which is more than I can say for some." Her words sting, but Rachel takes Quinn's hand in a silent apology for them.

"So, I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to do things for me because you think I'm sad. If that's the case, Quinn, then I don't mind leaving right now, because relationships between people shouldn't stem from things like that. If that's the case…then all I'd be able to see is you looking down on me, even if you aren't." Rachel gazes earnestly at Quinn, waiting for her to respond. Quinn just stares, dumbstruck, before clearing her throat.

"Uh…wow," she says, "you're pretty intense." Quinn removes her hand from under Rachel's, running it through her hair. She decides to answer the question as seriously as possible, and forces down an inexplicable surge of nervousness. "I…it's true that sometimes I feel sorry for you, Rachel. It was easy to forget how hard you have it because you always act like, well," here Quinn waves both hands in the air vaguely, "like you. So I never really did get it until I ended up like this too. But now, I have to deal with all this…with all this, this shit, too, and I hate it. And when I think about how long you've been dealing with it," Quinn makes a disgusted face, "I feel kind of sick."

"I totally get the whole 'don't pity me' shtick, I mean I'd be pissed if someone who doesn't even know what I'm going through treats me like…like, I dunno, like I don't already _know _my life sucks or whatever. Like it'll make me feel better to know other people think my life sucks too. I've been there, Rachel-I'm living it. So, it's not so much that I pity you…" Quinn scrunches her face up, trying to think of the right way to say what she's feeling. "…I guess I just get what you're going through, too?" Quinn groans in frustration. "That doesn't sound right…"

"No," Rachel denies, giving Quinn a small smile. "I get it. It's not out of pity so much as understanding, right?"

"…Sure," Quinn doesn't know if that's really what she wanted to say, but she goes along regardless. "And also, if I'm going to trust you with my deepest darkest secrets, I'd really like to make sure you're on my side." Rachel makes a funny face at this and flops back onto the pillows. She grabs the blankets on both sides of her and covers herself before rolling around on the floor and making frustrated groaning noises.

"Hey!" Quinn exclaims, moving out of the way. Seriously, the girl is psycho. "What are you doing? You're spilling your soda!" At that, Rachel abruptly sits up, uncovering herself and grabbing at the overturned can. She looks at the spill guiltily.

"Whoops."

"You're sleeping on that," Quinn tells Rachel seriously. The other girl pouts and grabs the soiled blanket, throwing it to the side. "Now, mind explaining that weird…thing you just did? I don't know much about what Mr. and Mrs. Jones' household rules are, but I'm pretty sure insane people are not allowed.

"I was just considering telling you about something humiliating I did a while ago to prove to you that I'm really and truly 'on your side.'" Rachel admits. Quinn looks interested at this. She leans forwards.

"Oh yeah? Don't think you have to tell me if you don't want to or anything," Quinn says, although she'd actually like to know. She figures she should at least make it appear as though she doesn't care, just to be polite.

"Really?" Rachel says, tilting her head a bit. "I thought that that was what one does on sleepovers-share embarrassing secrets. Am I incorrect?"

"Hey, that's right! Nevermind then, spill it," Quinn demands.

"How did you get Jacob Ben Israel's cooties?" Rachel asks suddenly, and Quinn groans, thinking she's evading.

"I asked him where you were and he was being a jerk," Quinn says impatiently, "I don't see why it matters."

"You asked him where I was and he knew?" Rachel exclaims, looking freaked out. "How?"

"He secretly placed tracking devices in your hair," Quinn responds dryly, "and they send little signals to the one hidden in his huge afro, which tells him where you are." Quinn is extremely amused and a little taken aback when Rachel begins clawing at her head. "Rachel, I was just kidding!"

"How was I to know?" Rachel says, sounding both parts annoyed and embarrassed. She stops though, and places her hands back at her sides. "The technology of the present has advanced at a rapid and rather alarming rate, so I find the thought of hair-based tracking devices pretty plausible. Also," Rachel shudders, "you underestimate the paranoia that comes with having someone like Jacob Ben Israel infatuated with you."

"He is a total creep," Quinn agrees, "he wanted my underwear." Rachel seems more interested at this. She leans forwards, hands on her knees.

"Did you give it to him?" she whispers in a scandalized sounding tone. Quinn glares at her.

"No!" Quinn says, "Are you kidding? Who would do that?"

"I did," Rachel admits sheepishly. "That was my embarrassing secret." Quinn gapes at her, before bursting out laughing. Rachel looks at her like she can't believe she's actually laughing, which only makes her laugh more.

"I can't believe it!" Quinn chuckles, "I bet as soon as you handed them to him his brain died and went to heaven. I bet he sniffs them. I bet-"

"Stop!" Rachel protests, tackling Quinn. They fall to the floor, wrestling a bit. "This is why I didn't want to say anything!" Rachel pouts. "I did it for you." Quinn stops struggling at this, startled by that revelation.

"How is it that you giving JewFro underwear helped me in any way?" she asks, confused. Rachel flushes.

"It did!" she insists, "at least…it was supposed to." As Rachel speaks, Quinn can feel her breath on her collarbone, and she suddenly notices how close together they are. The other girl is practically on top of her. Rachel's face is really, really near hers; a few more centimeters and-

Rachel jumps off, also apparently noticing that the position they were in was incredibly awkward, and there would have been no satisfactory response, were anyone to walk in, as to what they were doing (none that they would believe, anyhow).

"I-I…sorry," Rachel says lamely. She shakes her head a little, but she's still obviously flustered. "Anyways, I gave Jacob my…my underwear," she makes a face at this, "so he wouldn't post that story about your pregnancy on his blog."

"But he did post that story on his blog," Quinn points out, brows furrowing. She props herself on her elbows. "He took your underwear and posted it anyways? That little _weasel._"

"Didn't you get the point?" Rachel says, sounding exasperated. "I'm well aware that giving another person, especially one like Jacob, underwear is an embarrassing thing. However, the reason I even told you that in the first place was so you would realize that you can trust me not to tell secrets."

"Okay, okay," Quinn concedes, rolling her eyes. Rachel looks offended by her blasé response.

"You-"

"Jesus!" Frank interjects. Both girls look to the pile of sheets that he's buried somewhere beneath, having forgotten he was there. "Is this what girls spend all their time doing at sleepovers? Talking? I've been waiting here, rather patiently I might add, because I thought it'd be more interesting than this! The deepest, darkest secret you had was that you gave some creep your underwear? Come on! Give me mystery, give me intrigue, give me-give me murder! A catfight! Drama! Arrgh! You're crushing my fantasies, you bastards! At least have a pillow fight! Please?"

"We aren't here to act out your dirty fantasies, idiot," Quinn says. She sighs deeply. Rachel yawns.

"Sorry," she apologizes, "only, I'm used to going by a regular schedule. If I want to wake up at my usual time tomorrow, I think I should probably go to bed now."

"It's fine," Quinn says, "we do have school tomorrow, after all." She gets up to turn off the lights, and the room is plunged into darkness. "Next time, it'll be more fun," she promises.

"There will be a next time?" Rachel asks, voice sounding even louder now that the lights are off.

"Of course," Quinn tells her. And in the darkness, she thinks she sees Rachel smile.

**A/N: **honestly, I don't really like this chapter. At first it started out fine, but as it went on and on I kinda lost the feeling, I guess. To make up for what I thought was a crappy chapter, though, I have something extra up...an intermission! It was a lot more fun for me to write (even though ff . net sucks and won't let me use more than one space bar) so I hope you like it. Click the next button! Click it!


	6. Intermission

**The Curious Case of the Goodyear Blimp and the Broadway Wannabe**

As a dedicated blogger, I always make sure to post any and all of the latest news at William McKinley high school as soon as I hear about it. Suzy Pepper got another crush on an unattainable man? Ms. Pillsbury dumps Coach Tanaka at the altar? You'll hear about it here. I am a herald of truth! Unfortunately, though, because of this noble aspiration of mine I am often forced to undergo terrible treatment by the masses, the ignorant fools who don't understand. I've been thrown into trashcans, slushied numerous times, and have been given wedgies that would make even Superman quake in fear. But guess what? I know, regardless of what goes on at school, that everyone reads what I write. I've got power, god dammit! Don't underestimate the intrepid reporter-you should fear me!

An example of the terrifying influence of the written word-and of me-is the story of Quinn Fabray. There is no one at McKinley who doesn't know who this girl is (no one that isn't stupid, blind, or deaf, at least). Once upon a time, she was an idol at which the student body placed their adoration and fear. She was McKinley royalty; head of the Cheerios, chastity club president, honor roll member, and one of the scariest girls in this school. And all that ended when she got knocked up by one Finn Hudson, the epitome of the big, friendly giant-only stupider.

…or so we thought.

In what became known as the Babygate scandal, we learned that Noah Puckerman, commonly known as Puck, was actually the baby daddy. No longer content with just sleeping with moms, it seems this punk felt the need to make one himself. If that wasn't enough, GuyWhoThinksWithHisPants was actually the BFG's best friend! Talk about bros before hoes (not). Anyways, all this added to the story of the year, which all of you followed faithfully by means of my blog. That's right, you read about it here-hell I'm the one who revealed the secrets in the first place. If that doesn't show all of you my awesomeness, then you all fail.

What the point of this is? Well, because of this disgrace, Juno ended up being kicked off the throne, and is left in the ditch with the rest of us. Her perfectly conditioned and styled hair is now being pelted with slushies! Now we are allowed to laugh and point as she walks through our school's halls! It is glorious, glorious revenge! Mwahahahahaha!

Her social status has fallen so far that there are very few who rank below her. One is me (somehow. Even I don't understand how I rank this low. 'Fros are in, people! Haven't you ever seen Afro Samurai? He kicks ass!). The other is Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry is also an infamous name. Most people know her as social reject. They remember her deliciously short skirts and the argyle that still somehow doesn't detract from her ethereal beauty. They remember her amazing voice that I could just listen to forever-and that is the reason for strategically placed tape recorders all around the school-as well as her penchant for saying whatever the hell she wants to in a very long winded way. They remember how bossy and pushy she is; the typical diva. God, I would love it if she ordered me around…

Ahem.

Anyways, Rachel Berry is one of the few people who everyone can look down on. Don't ask me why-I don't even know why someone like me is so despised. This, however, is how the dog-eat-dog world of McKinley works. We stay within our own cliques and maybe we aren't celebrities like the Cheerios or football players, but we can still be content in the knowledge that there is always someone lower on the social ladder than us. Everyone's still got someone they can look down on; someone who can be used to make us feel better about ourselves. Everyone, however, except me! What the hell, people! Am I not even on the social ladder? How the hell is a pregnant girl better than me?

…would girls really rather kiss a horse than me? :( Actually, after thinking about it…I don't want to know. No one answer that!

As I was saying, Rachel Berry is like social poison. So, here's an interesting question…why would Quinn Fabray have been looking for her after school today?

That's right, folks; I heard it from ex-HBIC Fabray herself. She specifically asked me if I knew where my little VeryBerrySmoothie was…and threatened my manhood if I didn't tell her.

I know what you're thinking-what violent tactics! What was so urgent that she felt the need to threaten innocents in this way? And why Rachel Berry? When asked, Quinn merely evaded the question. All we are left with is speculation.

The two of them were also spotted heading to the parking lot together after school and getting into _the same car_. What does this all mean? Are we to believe that Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray might actually be…friends?

…

…

Bwahahahahahaha! I find the idea hilarious-it's like thinking cats would befriend mice! It's like thinking Puckerman will actually find himself in a long term relationship! It's like thinking Finn Hudson or Brittany Who-the-Hell-Knows-Her-Last-Name (I couldn't even find it in the school directory-who is this girl?) will actually graduate high school! It's like thinking Rachel will ever love me with half the passion I have for her!

…the last one was a little depressing. Let's ignore it.

Ridiculous friend-theory aside, I'm sure something sinister is afoot. Perhaps…blackmail? Does Rachel Berry have something on Quinn that she doesn't want revealed to the public? Maybe the fallen Cheerio has something else hidden: beneath that deceptive, angelic appearance is the soul of a devil! I wouldn't be surprised if she's keeping more lies-after all, if we've learned anything this year it's that Quinn Fabray isn't what she seems(chastity my ass, you liar!). Maybe Rachel learned one of Quinn's other numerous secrets, and is forcing the other girl to follow her every command. Maybe that's why Quinn was so frantic to find her-to make sure she didn't tell. Perhaps Rachel forced Quinn to drive her home and _that's _why they were leaving together.

It's an interesting theory, and it leads to even juicier questions-such as what that secret might be.

Another theory, made by more depraved minds than mine, is this: Quinn Fabray is a gigantic lesbigay! She and Rachel are in actuality engaging in a secret lovers tryst, and were never enemies at all-the animosity was merely a disguise. They luuurve each other and have boatloads of sexy times (if that were true, I'd be sooo jealous :/).

While that theory is incredibly titillating…I find the likelihood of this to be even lower than the friends theory. Let's move on to more realistic ideas, shall we?

Rachel has said on occasion that she possesses a mysterious sixth sense-that's something psychic, right? Maybe she hypnotized Quinn into believing she was her slave! Why Quinn, Rachel, why? I'd be your slave any day! Pick me, pick me! Quinn, you bitch-I hate you with the passion of a thousand angry demons! Just because you're beautiful, and you have awesome hair… (god damn it why doesn't my 'fro attract the ladies?). I'm a real man too! I am sexually appealing! I AM!

…Well, regardless of the reason, there is something strange going on there. Rest assured, I will be watching them religiously!

What do you think the correct theory is? Vote now!

O Friends (Pfft)

O Blackmail

O Lesbigay

O Psychic Mind Control

View Results

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COMMENTS (247)

Pages: 1, 2, 3, …, 24

* * *

_Redhat68 _says:

-1st comment!

_ -:...SUX2BU_ says:

-:::...2nd comment!

_-.:::...GWTWHP _says:

-..:::...u 2 r huge douches

_THEscariestgirl _says:

-the hell? Seriously, JewFro, save your disgusting rants about RuPaul 2 tell 2 some1 who cares. Oh rite…that's no one.

_brittany_ says:

-u've never been kissed? i thought i've kissed every1 at school…oh well

_-:...THEscariestgirl _says:

-:::...B, u kno ur supposed 2 put in a fake name, rite? and lol, even b didn't wanna come near ur lips, JewFro. that's sad.

_Toyota_ says:

-i think that friends is actually the most likely choice. they r havin a sleepover rite now

_ -:...GWTWHP _says:

-:::...srsly? that is so hot…y wasn't i invited? it's not a party unless i'm there

_ultimateJedi_ says:

-i vote psychic powers…it would be so kool if berry could use the force.

_ -:...GWTWHP _says:

:::...who the hell r u kidding? any real man would vote for lesbigay-and then ask for a three-way

_-.:::...__Sux2BU_ says:

-..:::...ur Noah Puckerman, rite? ur a huge a$$ and u probly r overcompensating. i hate u

_ -...:::...GWTWHP _says:

-...:::...-who the fuck r u? tell me so i can rip u a new 1 and then sleep with ur mom

_NPHfan _says:

-I find your infatuation with Rachel Berry seriously disturbing-almost as much as your fashion sense (or lack thereof)

_JBIrules_ says:

-if u all keep making fun of me i'm going to ban u from my blog.

_ -:...ahockeysticklookslikemy- _says:

-:::...u r such a freakin pansy

_g-g-g-goffickchick _says:

-y is every1 wondering about it anyways? it's none of our business

_ -:...silverli _says:

:::...b/c we can, dumbshit

_-:::...__wheels_ says:

-..:::...i'm going to hunt u down. and i'm going 2 run over ur toes.

_hahahaha _says:

-omg! roflcopter! lmaonade! its soo funny how ur pinning 4 a loser like berry and she still doesn't want u! ur a total dobe :p

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Pages: 1, 2, 3, …, 24


	7. Chapter 6

The next morning is rather awkward, as Quinn didn't bother telling the Jones parents that they had a guest. In her defense, a lot happened yesterday. She can't expect to remember everything.

Rachel also gets up at a god-awful time. Six in the freakin' morning? Who the heck does that when school doesn't start for another hour and a half? Alright, so maybe sleep is a bit unnecessary to Quinn at this point, but she appreciates it all the same, thank you. Waking up early just makes people cranky-well, people besides Rachel Berry, apparently. Quinn still has no idea how the other girl does it.

Mercedes, Quinn, and Rachel go to school together, and if Quinn thought that breakfast was weird then she definitely wasn't prepared for this. Mr. and Mrs. Jones just did the typical parent thing-hi, who are you, oh that's nice, small talk. It's all so incredibly _polite_. Of course, they also cracked a few really lame jokes, but they're not her parents so the only one embarrassed was Mercedes. It's a parent thing (not that Quinn remembers her parents ever embarrassing her with lame jokes. Thank God for small favors).

Mercedes already knows who Rachel is, so that's not a big deal. However, it's not like the two of them have ever gotten along well. They've both got the same type of personality, and Quinn guesses that they end up clashing because of that. It bothers her a bit now, and not just because of the deathly quiet car ride. Mercedes is her friend, and it seems like Rachel is going to be in her life whether Quinn wants her to be or not (although it's nice having someone else who knows). Anyways, it would be so much easier if everyone could get along.

Quinn will have to work on that, but she's not sure what she can do. She's human, not a miracle worker.

…Actually, the human part of that sentence is debatable.

The issue of her humanity aside, Quinn is pretty sure it'll take a miracle of epic proportions to get Mercedes or anyone else in glee to be friends with Rachel. And that's not in the pseudo 'at least they stick up for me' way, she means in the genuine 'I like going to the movies and stuff with you' way. The one Quinn seems to be headed towards, strangely enough.

Of course, it would help if Rachel wasn't so blunt and didn't use so many huge, archaic words. It would also help if she didn't talk so quickly or for so long. But then, Quinn isn't going to admit it out loud, but she kind of likes Rachel the way she is. Instead of changing Rachel, she would rather try to change everyone else instead. Okay, so that sounds a lot more difficult, but hey, Quinn was quite a trend setter back when she was…you know, popular. It's so doable!

Now she just has to figure out how to do it.

Quinn thinks and thinks and thinks about it; through the awkward car ride and through parting with Rachel and Mercedes in the morning to head to math. Just as the beginnings of a plan start to come to her, however, a serious, very distracting problem arises.

She wants to eat her math teacher.

The teacher in question, Mr. Adams, walked past her in those stupid tweed clothes that are really lame, and the urge just struck her suddenly. It was like driving past McDonalds and smelling the food. You know that stuff is disgusting and that you shouldn't eat it, but you can't help but want to anyways. Mr. Adams is like the greasiest, fattiest burger on the menu, and Quinn really doesn't want it but she's so craving it right now. He also looks really chunky and tall and kind of pimply, but it's nothing a lot of ketchup can't fix. Or maybe human tastes better roasted? Boiled? Fried? There are so many ways to prepare food.

It feels eerily like the time she saw everyone as walking food, only this time they look human and still yummy. Quinn covertly wipes the drool off of her face, hoping no one notices, and desperately tries to quell her appetite. Her stomach rumbles, and she's sure that if she still had blood her face would be bright red right now.

"Was there an earthquake in here?" Mr. Adams asks dryly. The class laughs, and Quinn slouches lower into her seat. It's a blessing when the bell finally rings.

The cravings don't leave third period either, even though Quinn ate all of the lunch she packed during passing period. It's not as excruciating, though, so Quinn figures that as long as she's constantly eating it won't be so bad. Everyone else will just think she's a freak.

Anyways, as soon as lunchtime starts Quinn heads straight to the cafeteria to get even more food. Thank god she's pregnant-it gives her an excuse to pig out, and that's something she needs right now. She piles her tray with as much as she can get and, ignoring all the weird looks, proceeds to try and find a safe place to devour it all. It's a bit hard maneuvering through the halls with so much balanced on her tray, but she can deal. Eating is the only thing on her mind right now.

However, the sight of Karofsky and Rachel talking together is a strange enough one that Quinn forgets her irrepressible hunger for a moment. It's replaced by irritation-is that bastard saying something mean and pissy as usual? Quinn marches up to them, ready to step in.

"Hey, preggers," Karofsky greets, but he doesn't seem to in to it. "Shouldn't a girl like you be stuffing your face somewhere else right about now? Looks like you're already halfway there with the food, how about finishing by getting lost." Quinn sneers at him, while Rachel looks back and forth between them.

"And shouldn't an asshole like you be in prison?" Quinn counters, "Or maybe a straitjacket would be better for you. Go away." Karofsky scowls, but gives up without a fight. He walks away, shoulders hunched and feet dragging.

"Quinn," Rachel admonishes, "you shouldn't be so mean to him." Quinn looks at her incredulously.

"Oh yeah, like he's never been mean to you."

"Are you being protective?" the brunette gives her a small smile. "Those are nice intentions, but he really wasn't being aggressive in any way. He just wanted me to meet him afterschool today for some tutoring." She motions towards Quinn's tray. "And don't you want to sit down and eat that?" Rachel begins walking off, and Quinn has no choice but to follow after her.

"Well you're not going, right? The guy's a jerk; you shouldn't trust him."

"He said he's doing really badly in history right now and needed some help. Also, didn't you hear? Karofsky quit the hockey team." Rachel furrows her brow a little. "Apparently he's been incredibly sick-did you notice how pale he looked? And he seemed so lethargic."

"All the more reason why you shouldn't go," Quinn argues, "what if you catch what he's got? You'll be a ton of help at Regionals when you're coughing so much you can't sing, I'm sure." Rachel hesitates at that.

"That's true," she concedes, "Karofsky will just have to find another tutor." Quinn smirks triumphantly and Rachel gives her an amused smile. She grabs Quinn's elbow and guides her through a door. Quinn looks around to find they're in the auditorium. She follows Rachel to some seats, a little in awe of the quiet atmosphere in here.

"Is this where you normally eat?" she whispers. It just feels like a whispering kind of place. Quinn sets herself carefully down, now balancing her tray on her lap.

"Yeah," Rachel whispers back. She eyes Quinn's tray, taking in all the stuff on it. "Where you just craving everything today?" Rachel gets a little wide eyed as Quinn neatly but quickly works on the pile.

"No," Quinn says through a mouthful of one of those cafeteria pizzas, "I'm craving Mexican right now."

"Mexican?" Rachel asks, "Do you mean Mexican food?" She pulls out her own lunch, and the lack of meat is a little shocking to Quinn even though she knew Rachel was a vegan. How can she stand it?

"No," Quinn shakes her head at Rachel's question, "I don't." Rachel looks confused for a moment, before the metaphorical light bulb begins to shine.

"Oh!" She exclaims, scrutinizing Quinn, "Oooh. You mean Mexican _people_." Rachel gives her a disgusted face, "Quinn, that's mildly disturbing."

"Hey!" Quinn protests, still whispering furiously. "I can't help it! Do you know what I was craving this morning? Math teacher! It was gross! And then after I wanted to try Russian, but there aren't any here!" Rachel puts her hands up in an appeasing gesture, but Quinn can't help but think she's enjoying this way too much.

"Okay, okay," Rachel says comfortingly. "So even when you're a zombie you still have pregnancy cravings?" She glances down at Quinn's stomach, frowning slightly. "You know, I feel terrible, but it seems in all the excitement I completely forgot about the baby…is she a zombie too?"

"We don't know," Quinn tells her, "but probably, yeah. The only way to know for sure is when she's here."

"That seems inconvenient," Rachel says, ignoring Quinn's 'no duh' expression. She goes on to say "Have you given any thought to how you plan on giving birth, if you do give birth at all? I imagine it will be difficult without being able to see a doctor." Quinn groans.

"God, I didn't even think about that!" She exclaims, slapping her palm to her forehead in frustration. "This whole zombie thing is screwing with my life even more than the baby, I swear. Unless," she looks to Rachel with a hopeless expression, "you know anything about delivering babies?"

"No!" Rachel screeches, "Do not even joke about that!" The brunette places a hand to her heart, clearly panicking at the thought. "I'd die…I'd really die!"

"Hey, no need to freak out on me," Quinn says hastily, trying to be consoling, "I was just kidding. I'll figure something out…maybe I can convince Mr. Schue?"

"I can't believe you could even consider the thought of me delivering a baby," Rachel keeps ranting hysterically, "What if I do something wrong? What if she ends up dying? What if _you _end up dying?"

"Kinda impossible," Quinn remarks.

"That's not the point!" Rachel seems to get even more upset. "The point is that I could potentially make a huge error that will have repercussions. Very bad repercussions! Just thinking about it…You shouldn't make statements like that lightly!"

"Whoa now, calm down," Quinn says, baffled by the level of the other girl's freak out, "I get it-no birthing for Rachel."

"I should hope not!" Rachel tells her, but she starts to relax more. "It would be terrible…I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I messed up."

"Wow," Quinn comments, a bit touched. "It sounds like you really care…about the baby, I mean," she adds.

"Well, of course I care," Rachel responds, "about the baby. What kind of person doesn't care about babies?" she babbles nervously, staring down at her lunch, "they're tiny and innocent and cute. Only an extremely malevolent person would wish death upon a baby; babies need to be protected, like animals are protected in zoos…not that we should put babies in zoos or anything, because that would be wrong. Although sometimes they can be irritating and a lot of work, they're can be so adorable too. So yeah," she finishes awkwardly, "I do care…about babies."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence heavy with words left unsaid, both eating their lunches without further comment. When it's time to go to their next class, Rachel quietly tells Quinn that she called her dads and they'll be bringing the supplies afterschool, before darting off.

Quinn's next class passes in a blur of hunger and boredom. She doesn't have anything to eat so she finds herself chewing on her pencil a lot, which is kind of gross. Also, she doesn't really know anyone in this class, either, so it's one of her least favorite classes. Quinn sits behind a group of friends who are always chatting, so not only does she have no idea what the teacher says half the time, she also ends up feeling left out. Today is no exception.

"Can you believe it?" the girl in front of her whines to the other one sitting next to her. Quinn doesn't remember their names, so she just refers to them in her head as Thing 1 and Thing 2. The other girl, who is kinda part of the group and kinda not is Wannabe, and the one who needs a new haircut is Shaggy.

"What?" Thing 2 asks, and Thing 1 does a face-palm. Wannabe shakes her head reproachfully and pips up.

"We were talking about that thing with Katie, remember?" Shaggy brushes some hair off her face, but then it promptly covers her eyes again.

"Oh yeah," Shaggy says, "About how she started dating that guy you wanted, right?" She sighs heavily, superiorly. "And you two were such good friends."

"Ooohh," Thing 2 finally clues in on the discussion, "yeah, I heard about that. You two had a total catfight right in the middle of the hallway over him. I dunno why-it's not like he's a Finn Hudson or anything."

"It's because I wanted him that she started chasing after him," Thing 1 snaps, "the bitch. It just goes to show that people can't be trusted."

"Yeah," Wannabe agrees vehemently, "people are all backstabbing, selfish, no good, lying, scheming bastards!" The group stares at her silently for a moment, before continuing as if she hadn't spoken.

"Anyways," Thing 1 mutters, brows furrowed angrily, "I've learned my lesson. My trust in people is only going to be as long as Ms. Sylvester's hair…especially when it comes to secrets like who I like."

"That's right!" Wannabe responds enthusiastically.

"If anyone should know about people blurting out secrets," Quinn says quietly, joining the conversation, "it should be me."

The group sizes her up, taking in her relaxed posture. Their eyes linger on her baby bump, and Quinn knows they're thinking about who she is; who she was. They might still be afraid of her, or they might still respect her, or it might be curiosity, or (God forbid) they might pity her, but whatever the reason they let her join them without comment.

"But to be fair," Shaggy says lightly, flipping her hair uselessly, "Your secrets were pretty hard to keep hidden."

"Not for lack of trying," Thing 2 consoles her, "but really, even someone as stupid as Brittany would have noticed." Quinn bristles a bit at this, because Brittany is-was-her friend, but she keeps her expression friendly.

"You're right, of course," Quinn hums in agreement. "I also had people like JewFro watching me, and we all know that…_weasel_…loves to tattle." She gives the girls a sympathetic smile. "And then there are people who take advantage."

"Like _Katie_," Thing 1 spits out with venom. She looks at Quinn, commiserating with her. "You've heard, I'm sure." Quinn nods, the picture of compassion.

"Definitely," she says. She pauses, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Do you think all people are malicious like that?" They all stare at each other, waiting for someone to say something. Quinn, recognizing a lost cause when she sees one, goes on.

"I mean, there are guys like JewFro and girls like Katie," she sighs, "It feels like no one helps each other out anymore. Friends one day, backstabbers the next-there's something wrong with that."

"Yeah…" Wannabe agrees hesitantly, before repeating herself with more confidence, "Yeah!"

"I don't think I can name one person who I can trust unconditionally," Thing 1 says decisively, "even my parents blab my embarrassing details to our relatives all the time!"

"Hmm," Shaggy ponders, "I suppose someone trustworthy like that would be pretty valuable. I'd like that kind of person on my side."

"Yeah," Quinn hides her smile, putting on a contemplative expression, "the whole baby thing really keyed me in on all the people in my life who can't really be trusted." She frowns. "That ended up being a ton of them."

"Not one person helped you out?" Thing 2 says, sounding appalled. Tch, as if she wouldn't have done the same.

"No," Quinn responds, pushing down her resentment and disgust for the people she's talking to, "even Finn ended up telling my parents about it." She sighs, massaging her temples exaggeratedly. Quinn then looks up suddenly, as if realizing something.

"But…" She begins, and then trails off. The others look at her expectantly.

"What?" Thing 1 asks curiously. Quinn shakes her head.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing," Thing 2 objects. Quinn bites her lip, before leading them on some more.

"I heard a rumor…" She says slowly, "but I dunno; I can't really believe it."

"Spit it out," Shaggy tells her impatiently, "I bet I've heard it too."

"Yeah," Wannabe says, nodding enthusiastically, "Me too; I've heard rumors! Say it, say it!"

"I heard…" Quinn responds softly, "…that Rachel Berry actually bribed JewFro to keep quiet about my pregnancy." She gives them a moment to digest that, and then scoffs. "Unbelievable, right? I mean, do you think she'd actually do something like that for me? I should probably just go to the person who told me that rumor and slushy them or something." She gazes at each of them. "I never pegged Rachel as the secret keeper kind-she always seemed like such a blabbermouth, you know? It's probably not true. You two heard the rumor too-what did you think about it?"

Shaggy and Wannabe, caught, think about it seriously and try to come up with the 'right' answer.

"Of course I've heard it," Shaggy says superiorly, "and I honestly don't know whether I believe it either."

"It is weird to think Rachel would help someone like you out-she's a loser, what does she want with us popular people?" Wannabe agrees.

"I cheated on my test once," Thing 2 says, "and Rachel told the teacher."

"I guess I never should have believed it," Quinn shrugs, "but for a second I actually thought-if you ignore her voice, maybe she can be okay. It must have been a bout of insanity or something."

"It must've," Thing 1 nods, but then hesitates. "But…she did help me out with…a problem…once, albeit in an annoying and superior and long winded way. And she didn't tell anyone about it…I think. I've tried to repress the memory."

"What was it?" Thing 2 asks, intrigued.

"Nothing!" Thing 1 says hastily. "I've repressed, repressed!" She flushes. "I was only being the…whatever they call it, the other side thing."

"Devil's advocate?" Quinn supplies.

"No!" Thing 1 objects, "I'm not evil or anything. Jeez." She looks put out. "I was trying to be nice and stuff."

"Rachel's smart," Wannabe says, nodding sagely, "I cheated off her test once and she didn't say anything. I got an A too!" Quinn privately thinks it must be because Rachel didn't notice, but she doesn't say anything.

"Why didn't she let me?" Thing 2 asks, looking upset.

"Maybe it's because you did something to her," Thing 1 guesses. Thing 2 looks guilty.

"I may have given her a slushy facial…but it was only once!"

"I've never slushied anyone!" Wannabe says proudly, but then thinks about it and realizes that that may not be a good thing. "I mean…I've gotten Jacob once, but not Rachel. That must be why."

"But the rumor," Quinn says, trying to steer the conversation again, "what about the rumor?"

"I don't know!" Thing 1 throws up her arms in exasperation, "It might be true but the hell if I know why. I just don't get the way that girl's head works."

"When they're that far down on the social ladder, something is bound to be a bit screwy about them," Shaggy says contemplatively, "maybe she hears voices in her head that tell her to do stuff. I've heard about those."

"I've heard about the voices too," Wannabe whispers conspiratorially, "there's a rumor that Rachel can hear them. The whole sixth sense thing, you know."

"Didn't I just say that?" Shaggy asks, confused.

"No," Wannabe insists, "it was a rumor and I heard it. There was also a rumor that Rachel is actually nice, but that's a bit doubtful."

"Didn't Quinn say that earlier?" Shaggy points out. Quinn shakes her head.

"No," Quinn says innocently, "I didn't say that. But I think I might have heard the same thing as…you. Who hasn't?" She really hopes Wannabe doesn't realize Quinn has no idea what her name is.

"Okay, then, whatever," Thing 2 says dismissively, "if everyone's heard it, then of course I've heard it too. I just couldn't remember earlier…and I guess I could believe the rumor. Maybe."

"Well, even Rachel Berry is better than Katie," Thing 1 nods decisively, "maybe next time I have to gush about the cutie in my science class I should do it with someone who wouldn't tattle on me. Or try to steal him." Quinn feels that mentioning how Rachel tried to steal Finn would be a bad idea, so she doesn't. It should be fine, though, as long as said cutie can't sing.

"What, so you're replacing your supposed BFF with Rachel Berry, of all people?" Shaggy scoffs incredulously. "I think you've seriously lost your mind."

"Well with a BFF like Katie, anyone would be better," Thing 1 snaps, "and it's not like you're great at making friends either-remember that incident last year with the Homecoming dresses?" Shaggy gasps, outraged. Then she narrows her eyes angrily, although the effect is dampened since they're hidden behind her hair.

"Maybe you're right," Shaggy says, "maybe I am bad at picking out friends. I'm friends with you, after all."

"Rachel Berry is definitely a better friend than you, too!" Thing 1 screeches, "She's probably way nicer and trustworthier and stuff! You troll!"

"Well if I'm under Rachel Berry status, then you are too," Shaggy retorts crossly, "there's a rumor that she helped Quinn out with her pregnancy-what've you ever done for me? I bet she's awesomer than you!"

"Girls!" the teacher snaps, "Can you stop fighting over whoever it is and start paying attention to the class?"

They all look up to see that the teacher is glaring at them and their classmates are hanging on to their every word. Thing 1 and Shaggy flush bright red and avert their eyes immediately, slinking down into their seats. As soon as they quiet down, however, the rest of the room bursts into chatter. The teacher slams her ruler on the whiteboard a few times until everyone finally shuts up and then, scowling, continues the lesson.

Quinn leans back, smirking. She knows that by the end of school tomorrow, the rumors that have been planted here today will be all over the school and no one will remember exactly who it was that started it all. And she's right, of course. Rumors spread like wildfire. There are dozens about the event alone-on why they were arguing, on Rachel Berry. People trade stories-an offhand comment about psychic abilities, something about a secret keeper, people screaming in class about her awesomeness. Soon, no one can remember the exact events. What Quinn doesn't realize or expect, however, is that her involvement in the debacle did not go unnoticed and rumors about the relationship between Quinn and Rachel explode just as much as the others (thanks to a certain blog). But that's another story.

Anyways…

So Quinn just helped make a bunch of new rumors for the terrifying rumor mill of McKinley. So what?

Well, maybe a lot of the rumors are about the craziness of Thing 1 and Shaggy, but there are also a lot of new ones about Rachel, too. Ones that are actually kind of positive-or at least not really bad. Compared to what was going around before, these new ones are way better. And honestly, Rachel's image is so bad among the populace and her infamy is so well known that this can only help. It may not make everyone like Rachel or anything, but it'll probably make her seem interesting or intriguing instead of just plain old annoying. It's a start.

After school, Quinn grabs the stuff she needs from Rachel, who hurries off with her dads to ballet class right after. Her dads gaze at Quinn curiously and there may or may not have been the stink eye involved, but Quinn doesn't want to assume. She's a little apprehensive of dealing with them, and therefore is kind of glad Rachel has to rush off so there's no time for awkward small talk. She has no idea how much (or exactly what) they know about her, but she isn't really eager to find out.

When they get home, Mercedes dives into her room to do who-knows-what, and Quinn heads straight to her own. She throws open the door unceremoniously and tosses her bags onto the bed before flopping herself down on her stomach and sighing heavily. Frank gives a quiet cough.

"Are we all clear?" he whispers, his voice low and authoritative. "No eyes on the wall?"

"Yeah," Quinn can't help but smile at his antics, "The walls are eye-free."

"So it's five-by-five? Cool. You got the loot?"

"Yeah," Quinn says noncommittally, "I got it." She buries her head in the downy pillow, just wanting to go to sleep right now and push school and zombie-ness to the side. Can't a girl get a break? Or at least a five minute nap?

"Well," Frank begins impatiently, "aren't we going to start working or what?" At Quinn's frustrated groan, Frank sighs. "No hands, remember? Get your butt up and help me out." He pauses for a moment, thinking, and then says "Oh, and we're going to need a guinea pig."

"To test the stuff out on? Won't I work?" Quinn says into her pillow. It comes out a bit muffled, but somehow Frank still manages to understand what she's saying.

"That…" he trails off. Quinn waits for a follow up, perhaps a snarky comment of some kind, but Frank doesn't continue and the room descends into quiet for a long moment. It's unexpected and strange enough that Quinn props her head up on her elbow and stares at the closed closet door. Since when does Frank not know what to say?

"Are you still there?" She asks tentatively.

"…Ah, yeah," Frank says slowly. He sounds uncomfortable. "…You know I don't have this whole cure thing down. If…if I mess up, it would be good to have it be on someone else, wouldn't it? I don't think it'd be a good idea to use you as our guinea pig."

"Okay," Quinn replies, still a bit wigged from the silence earlier. She thinks about it though, and figures that even people like Frank can have quiet moments, too. It was probably nothing. "So I bet this means you'll want me to find another zombie too." Quinn closes her eyes in despair at the thought-it seems like just after she's crossed one hurdle another one instantly rises to take its place. How the heck is she supposed to do this? What, do they expect her to just walk up to random people and say 'hey, I'm making a cure for the zombie virus-you wanna help out'? Yeah, like that'll work.

"I hate you," she sighs. Frank ignores her.

**A/N: **Okay, so this chapter is up so late because I didn't have contact with a computer for like a week. My apologies. Also, it's kind of all over the place because I didn't write it all out at the same time-when I did get my computer back it chose to go on the fritz and keeps shutting off randomly while I'm in the middle of typing. So basically, I keep losing my writing and I end up having to stop and when I get it back up my mood is different and stuff. It's hair-rippingly annoying. Hopefully, though, I'll be updating again soon...

Anyways, it's cool that the blog thing was taken well-I felt like maybe I exaggerated too much or something. As for the usernames-some of them were from glee, some weren't. I felt really uncreative when coming up with them, which is why you got stuff like Toyota(Mercedes), g-g-goffickchick(Tina), and wheels(Artie). Obviously Brittany was Brittany, and THEscariestgirl was Santana. ahockeysticklookslikemy- is supposed to be Karofsky for the simple reason that it has the word hockey in it(and it's a rhyme...I'm sure you can figure it out if you think about it, it felt like the sort of thing a moron like him would say). NPHfan is Kurt, because NPH stands for Neil Patrick Harris(he played Bryan Ryan) who is an amazing singer and has been on Broadway, and also happens to be gay. GWTWHP is Puck, and his acronym is what Jacob calls him in the blog.

Besides that, it seems like there are a lot of what's-gonna-happen-to-Beth questions-I'm not answering them anytime soon, but rest assured: I do have a plan. You, and I, will just have to wait patiently until it's revealed...even if I really wanna tell you. :(

Kenmura: alright, you got me; I really didn't have an explanation. I was thinking I could go with strip poker or something, but then I was like 'oh, what about the head?' I think Frank came up with the best one when he said roleplaying, but there's no way Rachel and Quinn would have used that one. :P


	8. Chapter 7

It's afternoon. Today is another day at McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio, and Rachel and Quinn are currently at school. That may not seem too unusual, because they are McKinley students, but the kicker is this:

It's a Saturday.

What exactly are they doing? Well, if you were casual bystander, it would seem to you as though they're recruiting for something. They are both sitting behind a sizeable table at the main entrance, which is littered with papers and pencils. The blond one keeps fidgeting anxiously while the brunette just pastes a patented salesperson smile on her face-even Barbie's would be challenged by the artificiality of it. The really eye catching part of the whole image, however, is the huge banner adorning the table. It reads, in big, bold lettering_: Searching For Zombie Cure. Need Test Subject._

Now, as a casual bystander it would be the perfect time for you to walk away quickly with your head down. And please remember, no pointing or staring. It's rude.

However, if you aren't a casual bystander and are familiar with our main character's…affliction, then you know that this is done in all seriousness. Quinn, with the help of the head hidden in her backpack, is actually trying to find a cure for zombie-ism. The girl sitting beside her, Rachel, is assisting in this endeavor out of some motivation Quinn can't make heads or tails of. The point, anyways, is that the zombie apocalypse is coming and they are trying to save the world. It's a very heroic goal, all things considered.

That doesn't make it any less mortifying.

Quinn _would_ wish for the earth to open and swallow her up, as the saying goes, if that didn't sound too much like a grave-and that's an image she doesn't want to think about. She settles for cursing Frank's name under her breath.

"Why do we have to do this?" She complains to the backpack. Quinn would worry about that looking weird, but then she figures it's a little too late to care.

"We need a guinea pig," Frank says unnecessarily. It's all stuff Quinn already knows, but she still feels the need to whine about it. "How do you propose we search for zombies?"

"I dunno! Anything but this!" Quinn scowls, and hopes no one who knows her sees this. The probability of that is unlikely.

"Well, _I _wanted us to do this on a school day," Frank replies, "but nooo. So we're settling for the next best thing." Quinn sighs heavily.

It may be said that no one goes to school on a Saturday, but that's not true. There are often extracurricular things going on, like practices or performances. Teachers come too, sometimes, to take care of unfinished business. There are plenty of people there to see Quinn's self imposed public humiliation, and it's almost too much when a gaggle of Cheerios flounce past, laughing behind their hands.

"It's okay, Quinn," Rachel tries to reassure her, placing a hand on Quinn's shoulder, "Frank has a point. The only people who would come up to us are most likely of the undead variety. This is almost certainly the best way to hunt for zombies because they know what they are and now they know we know too. Therefore, as a fellow zombie they won't mind signing up for our test since there's a possibility for a cure and we're probably the best chance they have. The rest will settle for staring, but they wouldn't dare come near."

"Why don't you tell that to him," Quinn mutters under her breath, panicking and subjugating the edge of the table to a vice-like grip. Rachel furrows her brow, and looks in the same direction Quinn is. She gasps, and the hand on Quinn's shoulder squeezes involuntarily. If Quinn were to look in Rachel's direction, she'd practically be able to see the cogs turning in her head…but Quinn is a little preoccupied with the fact that Principal Figgins is heading straight for them.

"What are you girls doing?" Figgins asks, surveying their table. He takes in the zombie banner and the sign up sheets. "I doubt either of you knows enough about medicine to come up with a zombie cure."

"It's a-a joke!" Quinn blurts out, trying to avoid detention or whatever other cruelty he might bring down upon them. "Like a gag thing you see on tv. Really, it's obviously a stupid idea." Quinn wants to strangle what's left of Frank's neck. She begins to stand, grabbing at the things on the table. "We'll just, uh, leave now. Sorry for bothering you."

Quinn would have run for it then and there if Rachel hadn't grabbed her arm and yanked her back down at the last second. Quinn whirls on the other girl, wondering what the hell she's doing, when she notices Rachel's eyes are narrowed suspiciously.

"Is that all you have to say to us?" Rachel questions pointedly. The short Indian man on the other side of the table doesn't look intimidated in the slightest, but he does incline his head in curiosity.

"What do you mean?" He asks innocently. Rachel frowns.

"I mean, you've seen us sitting here recruiting for a zombie cure. I think that any other person, instead of wondering about our medical prowess, would be questioning our sanity," Rachel points out, crossing her arms. "Unless you actually believe in zombies…which begs the question: why?"

This actually brings a emotional response from Figgins, who pulls out a handkerchief and wipes at his brow. Their principal stands there for a moment, before shaking his head.

"No," Figgins protests, "it means nothing. Zombies are like vampires and God. A person may go their entire life without seeing hide or hair of either, but that doesn't mean they can't be lurking around somewhere." He looks around nervously. "And at any second, they can smite you, ruining your life or worse-killing you!"

"You're a zombie, aren't you!" Rachel accuses, ignoring his spiel.

"Are you a zombie?" Figgins counters, eyes darting around frantically.

"Actually…" Rachel trails off, and Quinn continues for her.

"I'm a zombie," she says, "who wants to know?" Figgins stares at her in surprise. He blinks, once, twice, three times.

"Really?"

"Really," Quinn confirms. Figgins stares for a bit more and just as Quinn is beginning to feel uncomfortable, he turns that feeling up to eleven by leaning over the table and throwing his arms around her. Quinn stiffens, because hello! her principal is kinda hugging her right now!, but she doesn't flinch like she wants to. His stiff suit is poking her, it's creepy as hell how he's hugging her, and Quinn doesn't hug him back, but she doesn't flinch. She deserves major brownie points for that alone.

"Oh thank God!" Figgins exclaims, "I was beginning to think I was the only one! How? When? Where?" Rachel coughs.

"Shouldn't you remove yourself from Quinn?" she asks, voice scarily soft, "If someone were to walk by now, they might get the wrong idea. It would be in your best interest to let go of her and return to your side of the table." Figgins starts at this and withdraws guiltily. He pats himself down sheepishly as Rachel glares.

"Anyways," he says, regaining his composure, "I'd like to know how far you've gotten with this cure thing."

"We've been working on it for a while," Quinn replies, and it's true. She's had to spend many stressful nights after school making a mini lab in her room and trying to hide her activities from Mercedes. Ever since they've gotten the supplies Frank has been putting her to work.

"Let me talk to him," her backpack says, and Figgins looks around wildly.

"Who's there?" he yells. "Who said that?" Quinn doesn't answer, but she pulls her bag up over the table and undoes the zipper. Figgins swoons a bit when she pulls out Frank's jar, and it seems like he's going to be sick.

"That…that's disgusting," he mutters, putting a hand to his mouth. Frank frowns.

"I bet your mother said that when you were born," he responds nastily, "but if she could get over it I'm sure you can too." Frank tries to shake his head disapprovingly, but ends up toppling over so that he's leaning on the side of the jar.

"I'm Frank," he says casually, as if he wasn't a leaning, talking zombie head, "the mastermind behind the cure. I'm going to need you to answer a few questions." Figgins is apprehensive, but he nods cautiously. "Good. So…how did you become a zombie?"

"I got bit by a rabid dog," Figgins tells them, indicating towards his leg, "and I was going to go to get a rabies shot when I realized everything felt fuzzy…and when I checked my pulse it wasn't there."

"Zombie dog," Frank muses, "that's new. I wonder who tried to eat the poor little guy." Frank is quiet and pensive for a moment, and murmurs something that sounds like 'didn't die,' before clearing his throat. "Okay, then…have you eaten anything?" At Figgins' confused look Frank wiggles his eyebrows. "People. I meant people." Quinn makes a disgusted face.

"You haven't, have you?" she asks. She's managed to resist-only barely. Her resolve weakens day by day, and that scares her. Figgins shakes his head.

"Not yet, no," he admits, wringing his hands, "but I've got that covered. I have a contact at the city morgue, so if it gets to the point where I'm about to lose my mind-"

"Ew!" Quinn squeals, at the same time Rachel says "That's immoral!" Figgins flushes, but draws himself up in righteous indignation.

"I haven't yet!" he protests, "And I was only planning to save it for an emergency!"

"Just fill out the paper already," Quinn says, pushing a clipboard towards Figgins. She wants him and his grossness to leave. Figgins scowls but obediently scrawls down his name and phone number.

"I trust you'll call me," he says when he's finished. When Quinn nods and shoos him away, he gets the point and goes. Quinn sighs deeply, running her hand through her hair.

"At least we got one," Rachel says optimistically, smiling brightly.

"Our school is run by an undead, flesh eating zombie with very questionable morals," Quinn responds flatly. "Would this be irony?" She shudders. "Even if I was starving I wouldn't want to eat a dead body."

"So you'd eat a living one?" Rachel jokes, before realizing that it was in bad taste. She gets immediately guilty. "Sorry." Quinn shrugs, but the atmosphere gets kind of strained.

"It's fine," Quinn says. She gives the other girl a sidelong glance. "Thanks for bringing the table and helping out with this."

"Oh, it's no problem at all," Rachel replies immediately. She smiles at Quinn, and Quinn finds herself smiling back without realizing it. When she does realize, though, the smile freezes on her face and she wonders if maybe she's being a little weird. She's acting pretty chummy with a girl she could barely stand before.

She's stopped from thinking too deeply about it by raucous laughter, and she looks up to see Karofsky and his cronies turn the corner. They probably just got back from hockey practice because they're all sweaty and greasy looking, except for Karofsky. The boy is the only one who looks clean (a rarity, Quinn's sure), and was probably waiting for his friends to finish practice. He's wearing a scarf despite the weather, so he must still be sick, but the other guys hang out with him regardless. Quinn gets a sinking feeling in her stomach when the hockey players spot their table.

"Zombie cure, huh?" one jeers, "It looks like they let just about anybody in honor roll these days. When you got knocked up it obviously messed with your brain." He mimes the typical movie zombie, walking around with his arms and legs stiff. The others laugh, and look to Karofsky. In a totally unexpected move, though, instead of saying something mean and spiteful the boy stares long and hard at their table and walks away. The hockey players, as bewildered as Quinn is, gaze after him. A few glance back to Rachel and Quinn, but they end up trailing after Karofsky like lost puppies.

"Wow…" Quinn says finally, shocked. "You might actually be right about him turning over a new leaf."

"I told you so," Rachel responds superiorly. Quinn scowls and bumps her shoulder, and Rachel giggles. Quinn finds herself smiling again-dammit, what is wrong with her?

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," Quinn says abruptly, standing up. Rachel looks up at her, a confused expression on her face.

"Don't we need to wait here in case more people come?"

"Why would I want to wait for more people?" Quinn wonders aloud, one eyebrow quirked, "I'd rather not have them see me here."

"What about doing your sacred duty?" Frank asks, pouting, "You aren't going to leave me here, are you?" Quinn thinks about it for a moment, before grabbing his jar and shoving it into her backpack.

"Yeah, that's the idea," Quinn informs him over his protests. She notices that Rachel has gotten up too, and is about to tell her to stay behind…but when the other girl grins at her and links their arms she kind of forgets about that plan.

"Let's go, then," Rachel says brightly. She drags Quinn off, walking at a brisk pace.

"What's the rush?" Quinn asks, bemused, but Rachel ignores her query. Quinn decides to give up on figuring the other girl out and just takes in her surroundings. The hockey players might be done, but there are band kids gathering in the parking lot and some of the neighborhood kids are taking advantage of an empty field. It's a bit weird going to school on the weekend; there aren't all these people bumping into them. It's pretty much empty, and peaceful. Quinn likes it.

Rachel stops suddenly in front of her and Quinn ends up crashing into her. The blond yelps and rubs at her smarting nose.

"What are you-"

"This is where it happened, right?" Rachel says quietly, and Quinn blinks. She looks around, and realizes just where they are.

"Yeah…" Quinn responds just as quiet. They both look up at the McKinley girls' locker room silently. Quinn fights off a serious case of the wiggins. The locker room door may look shabby, with peeling paint and graffiti, but it's scarier to her than any haunted house.

"Let's go inside," Rachel says decisively, and before Quinn can give her a resounding 'no!' Rachel hauls Quinn over to the door, wrenches it open, and darts inside.

Quinn has made a point of avoiding the locker room. She doesn't even exercise anymore. If you were to ask her what her problem was, even she wouldn't be able to explain it well. It's just, when she sees it there's this clenching feeling in her stomach, and her breath quickens, and her hands get all clammy. She breaks out into a cold sweat, too, which she didn't know zombies could do. All of her senses are screaming at her to leave, stay away, and never come back. Then there's Rachel pulling her on despite them.

Why the girl suddenly decides to make Quinn do this is a total mystery. Is it curiosity? Whatever the reason, Quinn is glad that she isn't alone right now. She feels really pathetic, though, clinging onto Rachel's arm like she's afraid something will jump out at her.

Rachel, picking up on Quinn's apprehension, slows down and gives her an encouraging smile. Quinn tries to smile back, but when Rachel frowns Quinn knows she's failed. Rachel tightens her grip on the blonde's hand.

When they get closer to Quinn's lock, the brunette almost has to pull Quinn forwards. She stops, giving Quinn a funny look.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks, concern written all over her features. "We can go back, if you want."

"It's fine," Quinn swallows, trying to stand tall. She's not going to run away with her tail between her legs, goddammit! It's only a high school locker room, for christsake, and Quinn is tougher than that. She determinedly leads the final few steps to the row her locker is at and then freezes.

There's a clearly visible burn mark marring the floor. Her eyes trace the black stains, remembering what happened, before they move almost unconsciously to the spot where she was attacked. The floor there is spotless, but it seems to her that if you look closely the whole area is still colored pink from her blood. It may be a trick her vision is playing on her, but Quinn can clearly visualize the bloody handprint on her locker, the blood splattered all over the floor…so, so much blood. A life's worth.

"Quinn?" Rachel's alarmed voice breaks through her trance, and Quinn realizes that she's been crying. "Quinn, are you okay?" The other girl tugs on her arm. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought you here. Let's go, okay?"

Quinn shakes her head and wipes futilely at her tears before slumping down on the floor. Rachel hesitates, before kneeling down with her.

"Oh God," Quinn says, over and over again, sobbing. "I really…I can't…" Rachel looks so lost right now, but she brings the blonde close to her in a hug. She rubs Quinn's back, trying to soothe the stricken girl.

"It's okay," Rachel says, "you're not there anymore, it's okay." This, for a reason lost on the other girl, only causes Quinn to cry harder.

"No. It's not okay," Quinn denies, "it's really not."

Rachel doesn't know what to say to comfort Quinn, so she just squeezes the blonde tighter to herself as if afraid she'll melt away.

* * *

What many people don't consider is exactly how hard it is to be a head without a body. Sure, you can talk and think, but not much else. Comfort food? Doesn't really work out. Frank can't even twiddle his thumbs when he's bored. And then there's the whole dependency thing with him not being able to walk. He needs someone else to move him and if no one does he's stuck all by himself, totally helpless.

It's infuriating.

Add that to the fact that people tend to freak out on sight, and yeah, being only a head is a pretty bad deal. Frank is trying his hardest to work with what he's got, but he would give anything to feel the wind in his hair again instead of the stale air of the jar, and to feel the grass beneath his toes. Hell, he would give anything just to have toes again!

So, yeah, he has a lot of things he can bitch and moan about. But the way Frank sees it, bitching and moaning isn't going to change anything, so why bother? Having a goal, though, really helps keep him on track. He needs that.

Finding a cure for the zombie virus, now that would be an achievement. He could save the world; prevent the zombie apocalypse! It's epic stuff, yo! He'd be helping humanity, helping to keep people alive.

When he thinks about it in a bigger scale like that, it helps him feel better about the ones he can't save. About himself. About her.

Right now, as per the usual, Frank is by himself and stuck in a small dark place. Quinn and Rachel had rushed off earlier to go on a walk or whatever, and he could be bitter over being left behind. But, if there's anything he's learned by being a head, it's how to be patient. Kids will be kids, after all.

It's quiet and peaceful, but a good portion of his day every day is quiet and peaceful. It gets so stifling and overwhelming sometimes, the silence, that Frank often ends up filling it with his own voice. Yes, he talks to himself; no it doesn't mean he's crazy. It's comforting, in a way. Of course, there was this one time Mrs. Jones heard him and came charging into the room; that scared the crap out of him, but at least he was covered by a sweater.

Frank has gotten better at hearing stuff, too. He likes to think he's on his way to becoming a ninja, what with the sensing stuff without seeing anything. He tries guessing where Quinn is when he's locked in the closet by homing in on her breathing. It's not perfect, but he can get it 2/5 times. Can you do that? He didn't think so.

Frank doesn't need to have super hearing skills, however, to realize that someone is crying nearby. It only worries him more when he realizes it's Quinn.

"Is everything okay?" He asks tentatively. Quinn sniffles but doesn't say anything, and Rachel answers.

"I don't know," she says helplessly, "she's not telling me what's wrong. It must be my fault, I didn't think…If I realized how traumatic it was I would have never…"

"What was?" Frank wonders apprehensively.

"The locker room," Rachel admits, "I took Quinn to the locker room."

Frank's first instinct is to yell at the girl, because duh! Being attacked by a zombie is a bit traumatizing! But he calms down and thinks it through like the rational adult he (sometimes) is, and he understands why Rachel wouldn't think it was a big issue. Quinn acts like she accepts everything, like she fully understands the significance of that moment, but she doesn't. Rachel doesn't really get it either. And anyways, it's all his fault in the first place for attacking her. Not one of his finest moments.

Frank feels the bag being lifted, and they start moving. He assumes that they're calling it a day, and they've left the table behind. The rest is a blur, because Frank can't see anything at all but the inside of Quinn's backpack. However, he can tell when they've stopped. He hears the car door open, and Quinn steps out. There's some walking, and the sound of a door squeaking open. Frank hears Mercedes' voice, harsh and loud. She wants to know what's wrong with Quinn. Rachel is stuttering out an explanation, but Quinn doesn't stay with them. She keeps walking away, ignoring the other girls.

Quinn sets the backpack down in what Frank assumes to be her room and closes the door without taking him out. He hears the click of a lock being put into place, and then silence. The only noise is Quinn's staggered breathing. Frank hears her flop down onto her bed and wishes she'd let him out of the backpack so he could at least _see_.

Rachel and Mercedes stand outside her door for a moment and ask if Quinn needs anything or if she's okay. Quinn tells them to leave her alone.

Then it's that damn quiet, the stillness that Frank hates. He bites his tongue, though, because Quinn needs peace right now.

It's many, many minutes later when she finally speaks to him.

"Hey, Frank," she begins, and he is instantly alert, "do you have a family?"

Her inquiry is so far from what he expected that for a moment Frank thinks she spoke another language. He's struck dumb.

"I mean," Quinn continues, "you've mentioned a wife and a mother-in-law. Is that it? Are there any more?" Frank coughs, uncomfortable with the conversation, and tries to answer casually.

"Oh, yeah," he says brightly, "I've got a wife, and let me tell you she is hot. Her name…her name's Joy. And we have a little boy, who's seven, named Nick. We all call him Nicky, though. Cute as a button, he is."

"Oh." Quinn is quiet again for a moment. "Do you miss them?"

Frank knows he's taking too long to answer this question, but then, how is he supposed to answer it? What does she want him to say? Should he admit that he thinks about them everyday; that he dreams about them? Should he tell her that it breaks his heart that Nicky will never be able to have a dad again? That he wants to see them but he's afraid of what they'll say when they see him looking like this? Like a freak?

"Yeah," is all Frank says though, and despite his best attempts his voice is a little thick, "I miss them."

"They're probably still waiting for you to come back from that day, huh?" Quinn mumbles, "The day in the locker room."

"No," Frank says, trying to get rid of any guilt Quinn might be feeling for what she did to him. He feels guilty enough as for both of them. "I left earlier. I couldn't risk losing it and hurting them."

"And then you ended up hurting me instead," Quinn says quietly, and Frank doesn't know how he should respond.

"I'm sorry," he tells her seriously, "I really am. If I could take it all back…"

"But you can't," Quinn finishes, and it sounds like she's going to burst into tears again. "Hey, Frank…I didn't want to think about it and I avoided the subject…I was scared. But when I saw that place again today, I realized…I really died that day in the locker room, didn't I? I'm not like halfway dead or almost dead or living impaired or whatever. I'm really dead."

"Even if you do come up with a cure for the zombie virus," she continues before Frank can get a word in, "once you get rid of the virus from my body, I'll probably just end up dying again. In fact, the virus is the only thing still keeping me here. Am I right?"

Frank hesitates. "…Well, there's a possibility-"

"Tell me the truth," Quinn demands, "I'm a big girl; I'll deal with it." All is silent for a long, long moment as Frank seriously considers her request.

"…yeah," he finally whispers into the quiet room, "even if I do come up with a cure, you'll probably still be dead. I'm sorry."


	9. Chapter 8

All of the psychology buffs out there know that there are five stages to grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Denial is obviously when the person refuses to believe the reality of the situation, anger is when they start blaming someone else for what's happened, bargaining is when they try to make a deal with the world or a person in order to better their situation, depression is when they wallow in self-pity and despair, and acceptance is when they finally get that they can't do anything about it and they move on. Well, Quinn has been stuck in the denial stage for so long, she basically just skipped the whole rest of the process and went straight to depression.

The rest of her Saturday and a good portion of her Sunday are spent listlessly in her room, listening to depressing music and occasionally succumbing to tears once more. Mercedes and her parents are worried sick about her, but Quinn's been ignoring them. It's mean of her, but she's dead-Quinn figures in the big scheme of things she'll be forgiven for being a jerk just this once.

Of course, that leads her to wonder if she'll be forgiven for all the other times she's been a bitch and that opens a whole 'nother can of worms that she doesn't want to think about.

Frank, surprisingly, has not uttered a single word since condemning her with the truth earlier. He's left her alone in the sense that he's given her time to come to terms with the bombshell that fell onto her life and blew it all to pieces.

…Maybe that last sentence was a little dramatic. But, hello! Dead! That is such a scary, permanent word. Dead. Death. Dying. A promise of oblivion and eternal sleep waiting at the end of every life. And then it leads one to wonder…what comes afterwards? Is there really a God; really a heaven or hell? Or maybe there's reincarnation, or maybe there's really nothing there at all. The last one is a terrifying concept.

Quinn has always been a devout Christian, so of course she's subscribed to the whole God and heaven deal. The big question, then, is if heaven will really accept someone like her.

Also, if and when she does become used to the whole dying thing (unlikely), Quinn has to wonder: now what? So, she's dead (oh god, she still can't really believe it) and all that's left is waiting for a cure for the zombie virus. What is she supposed to do for the time in between? Her lease on life is nearing an end, and she should treasure the next few weeks…but then, what exactly can she do? She's stuck in Lima, Ohio, for the rest of her life (god dammit) and there's really nothing that exciting to do here. Plus, she can't afford to make anyone suspicious by skipping school. No one knows but Frank, and if she had to tell anyone else she thinks that just might break her heart.

She's not even close enough to her family to tell them anyways. Quinn wonders if they'd even care.

Quinn has things she could be doing right now besides moping-homework, for instance. But then, stuff like that just doesn't really seem that important anymore. However…what is important? What does she really value in life? Glee, maybe? Regionals are coming up; if she spent the rest of her life focused on winning there that could be cool.

Minutes later, as if summoned by the thought of glee and singing, Quinn's cell phone blares to life. Quinn glances at the screen to see the caller id is unknown, and contemplates ignoring it.

"Pick it up," Frank says finally, voice a bit hoarse from disuse. He's still in Quinn's discarded bag. "It's rude to leave someone hanging like that."

Not really caring either way, Quinn does as told. She can always hang up right after.

"Quinn?" an all too familiar voice asks, "Are you there?"

"Rachel?" Quinn croaks out, surprised, "How did you get this number?"

"I asked Mercedes," Rachel responds, her voice sounding tinny and artificial through the phone, "she's worried about you. I'm worried about you too. Can we talk?"

"…We're talking right now," Quinn says cautiously. She doesn't want to talk.

"I meant face-to-face," Rachel elaborates, "I'm waiting outside the house right now. I'll be expecting you, Quinn." And, in typical diva fashion, she doesn't wait for Quinn to respond, instead choosing to hang up and give herself the last word.

Quinn glances around involuntarily when hearing that Rachel is outside, even though she can't see to the front lawn from her room. She wonders if Rachel would leave if she waited long enough.

"That was the shrimp, right?" Frank asks, "I can tell, so don't lie. I have ninja hearing."

"Yeah," Quinn admits quietly.

"You should go see her," he advises, "you've been cooped up in here all day, and it's not good for you." Quinn laughs a bit bitterly.

"Yeah," she says sarcastically, "and I should really be concerned with my health right now." Frank doesn't respond for a long, long moment, and Quinn almost feels guilty.

"…Do you hate me?" he wonders, so quietly Quinn almost couldn't hear him. From what she can hear, though, she can tell that he's not sure if he really wants to hear the answer to that.

A question asked that seriously deserves an equally serious response, so Quinn thinks about it. The answer 'yes' pops up almost at once, fueled with bitterness and resentment over the situation. But she's trying to be an adult now, since she won't ever have that chance later.

Frank didn't mean to kill her. She can't blame him-well, she can, but that would be unfair. He's in the same boat as her, after all. She killed him too. He was alive (kinda) before attacking her and could've had a chance to return to his family, but then she broke his neck and chopped off his head and that's kind of impossible for him now. If he's guilty, then she's equally as guilty.

And he's always been a friend to her, so she should at least try to be one back.

"No," Quinn says finally, "I don't hate you, Frank." There's an almost inaudible sigh, a whispered thanks. Quinn laboriously drags herself off the bed, stretching with a groan.

"I'll talk to Rachel," she concedes reluctantly. She walks over to where she dumped her backpack and crouches, unzipping it. The blond reaches in a grabs Frank's jar and pulls him out, serendipitously avoiding eye contact. She sets him on her desk, before leaving the room and going for the bathroom. Splashing water on her face doesn't help with the splotchy cheeks and red eyes and nose, but it definitely wakes her up more.

When she heads towards the door, Quinn ends up seeing Mercedes fixing herself something up in the kitchen. The other girl didn't spot her right away, so she considered running for it and avoiding any awkwardness. Then, of course, Mercedes just happened to look up.

"Hi," Quinn greets, averting her gaze. She must have really upset someone up there because she has pretty terrible luck. Mercedes places her hands on the counter, scrutinizing her.

"Are you okay?"

Quinn coughs. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"…Do you want to talk about it or something?" Mercedes asks, clearly uncomfortable at the idea. It's okay, though; talking about her feelings makes Quinn uncomfortable too.

"Rachel's waiting for me outside," Quinn says, "so you don't have to. Thank you, though." Something flashes across Mercedes face at this, but the expression is gone before Quinn can actually analyze it. Mercedes looks back down.

"Oh." she says softly. Quinn waits for a bit, but it seems like Mercedes is done talking. She hightails it out of there. Awkwardness. Quinn's pretty sure she's allergic to that.

It's late afternoon outside, and the sun is beginning its descent into the horizon. Quinn squints, wondering when it got so late, and glances around. She spots a figure sitting on the curb facing the street. Their knees are drawn up so they can rest their chin, and thick brown hair falls over their shoulders like a curtain. It's Rachel, obviously.

"Hey," Quinn greets, and Rachel jumps up and turns around.

"Hi, Quinn," Rachel nods and gives her a small smile, but she's staring at Quinn as hard as Mercedes was earlier. It's then that Quinn realizes she's been wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She fidgets self-consciously.

"Do you want to sit down or go on a walk with me?" Rachel asks, taking charge and preventing any uncomfortable silences. Quinn noiselessly plops herself down on the curb, thereby answering that question, and Rachel slowly sets herself back down. Quinn uses this time to subtly observe her companion.

The brunette's expression is pensive, and she's returned to the same sitting position as earlier with her arms wrapped around her knees. Even though she's dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and faded jeans, with that faraway expression and the setting sun giving an orange tint to her hair, she looks like she could be the inspiration for a beautiful painting or something. Thinking about that makes Quinn feel weird, though, so she looks away.

"Your phone number is the only one in my address book," Rachel says unexpectedly, "besides my relatives, of course. I apologize for taking it without asking, but I somewhat like having it there. I'd like to keep it, if you don't mind."

"Sure," Quinn responds, thrown off by the weird topic, "you can keep it." Rachel always had a strange way of talking about the more depressing aspects of her life with a sort of nonchalance. Quinn figures that if Rachel has such a blasé way of talking about it, then she should probably respond with a similar attitude.

"You have mine now, too," Rachel says, sounding pleased. "So whenever you feel the need for conversation, I'm only a few taps of a button away." Rachel pauses for a moment.

"I want you to use that privilege and call me as many times as you like," she begins, "I'd like to think that you trust me enough to know that I'm here to listen to you without judgment and that I'm willing to help you out with any problems you may have, if you just talked to me. So I'm not going to pressure you, but…"

"You want to know about what happened yesterday," Quinn finishes. She still hasn't turned to face the other girl, but she knows the brunette is staring expectantly at the side of her face.

"Yes." Rachel says, "I do."

For one terrifying, heart pounding moment, the truth forces its way up like some nasty, guilt flavored phlegm and Quinn is tempted to tell Rachel that she's going to die. However, Quinn manages to keep that truth swallowed and shrugs.

"It's the whole reliving trauma thing," she says instead, "being in the locker room made me remember that day and I flipped out. I'm sorry you had to be in the receiving end of that." Quinn clenches and unclenches her hands reflexively. She's relieved and disappointed at the same time when Rachel nods.

"Oh, so that's all?" she sighs and smiles in relief, "I mean, of course that's horrible that you had to experience that, but I was afraid there was going to be something much worse. I'm glad that you're okay."

"Yeah," Quinn smiles shakily back, "I'm perfectly fine." Except for the guilt pooling at the pit of her stomach, of course. And the fact that she's dead.

Rachel, oblivious to Quinn's inner turmoil, continues to grin, and it only serves to make the blond feel worse. She looks away.

"So…" Quinn searches for a topic, "how have you been doing in school?" Quinn wants to bang her head repeatedly on the sidewalk right after she speaks. What kind of lame question is that? She sounds like her parents!

"School is proceeding as usual," Rachel plays along with her eyebrows raised, "are you not going anymore?" Quinn gestures helplessly.

"No! I'm…I'm making conversation!" she glares at the brunette, "You're not really helping, here!" She tries to ignore the way Rachel is looking at her like she's a huge dork.

"Very well, then," Rachel gives her an indulgent smile, "what do you want me to say?"

"I dunno…anything weird happen?" Quinn wonders. Rachel tilts her head in thought, then frowns.

"I'm not sure if this would qualify as weird," she says slowly, "but Suzy Peppers hasn't been at school for a while."

"Really?" Quinn asks, surprised. "I didn't know that. Were you friends with her or something?" Rachel's frown deepened.

"Do I have to be friends with her to notice something like that?" she makes angry sweeping gestures, "No one cares because they think she's a freak! She's been gone for a week or so and no one even wonders where she is or anything!"

"I'm sorry for not noticing," Quinn says, wondering what the big deal was. "I don't think I even have any classes with her. And you have to admit, she is a bit strange."

"So that makes it okay? What if she's hurt or what if she ran away? She's our classmate, so we should be concerned about her," Rachel crosses her arms. "But instead, hardly anyone notices that she's gone. Just because she's a social reject…"

Quinn thinks that she might be getting the point now. She is on honor roll for a reason, and so does her best to read between the lines of Rachel's outburst. She hesitates for a moment before speaking.

"…you know," she begins tentatively, flushing with embarrassment, "you know I'd worry if you went missing or something, right?"

Rachel gazes at her for several moments with an absolutely stupefied expression, before it dissolves into a shy smile.

"Oh," she says simply, "I see." Rachel glances down for a moment, before looking back up.

"It might be presumptuous of me," the brunette says with that same small smile, "but I consider you as someone close to me…like a best friend, or something of the sort. I would miss you if you were gone, too."

Rachel certainly didn't intend for her words to pierce at Quinn like a knife to the heart, but they did anyways. They remind Quinn that she _is_, in fact, going to leave. Permanently.

"Thanks," Quinn coughs, clearing a suddenly thick throat. She smiles weakly back at Rachel.

Well, damn. When did she get promoted to best friend status? And Quinn has the sneaking suspicion that best friend was pretty much equated to _only_ friend. Double damn.

She can't be Rachel's only friend! She's dead! There should be a rule about that; something about not making friends with dead people. Because when she does end up dying, Rachel will be all alone and that's just wrong and unacceptable. She can't rest in peace knowing that she's Rachel's only friend, and that she just abandoned the other girl. Rachel needs to make other friends.

Rachel just needs to be treated better all around, actually.

The other girl is still oblivious to Quinn's inner thoughts, but that's okay. Quinn's come to a decision. She may not have much longer to live, and she may be an undead zombie, but she's got a goal now: she'll spend what's left of her life to make Rachel's better. The other girl deserves that much from her, since she's the one who made a lot of it a living hell. And it feels nice, thinking about helping someone instead of hurting them.

Maybe if Rachel can forgive her for being a bitch, God can too.


End file.
